Of Guns and Monsters
by LadyMoonSilver
Summary: When a robbery gone wrong leads to stolen weapons, the Five-O crew has to find a madman as the bodies start piling up and one of their own is missing. Like my previous stories, this one is also set in the '90's after the Gulf war. Usual warnings for sex, violence, and bad language.
1. Chapter 1

_Welcome back to my world of Five-O in the nineties. If you are not familiar with my stories, I took the cast and crew of the original series and moved it into the future. The stories start five years after the Gulf War, and include women soldiers and sailors, both active duty and retired._

 _Once again, all the classic characters and concept of Hawaii Five-O belong to CBS. Everyone else is simply a product of my overactive imagination._

 _Read and enjoy. Please don't be too critical of the action scenes, as I am trying to learn how to write them well enough to be believable. Yes, there are a few bad words, including the 'queen mother' of all bad words. Try not to be too offended. Surprisingly little sex in this one but lots of blood, guts, and pig feet._

 _Constructive criticism is always welcome._

 _Thank you for reading._

 _LMS_

 **Of Guns and Monsters**

O-O-O-O-O

Chapter 1

It started out as a robbery.

Two kids with a couple of big guns they knew very little about wearing the obligatory black ski masks printed with red skulls, in April, in Honolulu, because they thought it made them look tougher than they really were, but when combined with the desert cammo fatigues they had stolen off a clothesline from the housing area on Fort Shafter, it made them look like a pair of apprentice douchebags. Another kid waited in a stolen car, the designated driver as it were. He had an even bigger gun, an M16A4, loaded with NATO standard 5.56mm steel jacketed rounds with two 30 round banana clips taped together for quick reloading, and while the kids with the Glocks knew little about their weapons beyond the bullets exit through the hole in the end, he knew the sixteen inside out and could assemble it blindfold in less than half a minute.

Today's target of choice had been a local mom and pop convenience store located in a strip mall at the corner of McCully and South Beretania Street. The store did a brisk business in bill pay and check cashing especially at the first of the month when retirement, social security, and welfare checks came in. The kids had been watching the place for nearly three months now, supporting themselves when their parents got tired of giving them money with the occasional mugging, breaking and entering, and selling bad weed and even worse methamphetamine to local high school kids who didn't know the difference between ditch weed and Maui Wowie or crystal meth and ground up aspirin cut with powdered milk.

The three of them had the combined IQ of a concussed chicken. The two with the stolen Glock 9's were both just past their sixteenth birthdays. They were chosen as trigger men because of their youth, each of the partners in crime being blissfully ignorant of a state law allowing juveniles to be prosecuted as adults for gun crimes. The 'brains' behind the plot, rocking the obligatory cammo and death mask junior douche combo, was all of twenty-two and thought of himself as some sort of military genius, or he would be if command would just get off his back. He was a member of the National Guard when he could be bothered enough to attend meetings. Last weekend's meeting had been the first one he'd attended in months. He had taken the chewing out he knew he had coming and reported to work at the arms room to spend the rest of the day cleaning, oiling, and packing the M16's that would eventually be replaced with the newer, upgraded version of the world's bestselling Mattel product. As usual he spent more time running his mouth than working. By Sunday afternoon, the El Tee and the sergeant in charge had gotten tired of listening to his bullshit and went for coffee, leaving explicit instructions for him to clean the place up and be ready for inspection when they got back. That was the opportunity he had been waiting for. When he left that afternoon, after the OIC had grudgingly signed off on his time sheet, the gym bag he had brought in with him was a lot heavier than it was when he arrived.

The store was owned by an elderly Cambodian couple. They had survived Nixon's clandestine bombing raids, Pol Pot's reign of terror, the Khmer Rouge, Chinese pirates, and the god awful refugee camps of Thailand and really weren't intimidated at all by a pair of punks shakily holding guns way too big for their hands. Mama-San simply knelt behind the bullet proof glass and hit the silent alarm as she dialed 911 on her cell phone. Papa-San shoved a very illegal sawed off double-barrel twelve gauge mounted on pistol grips and loaded with birdshot through the payment window, giving both hoodlums a sprinkling of steel bb's. Papa-San knelt to reload the shotgun as the two punks opened fire with the Glocks, scattering 9 mm hollow points in every direction, breaking liquor bottles, exploding cans of soda, and shattering a jar of pickled pig's feet, the smell of vinegar and spices mingling with the aroma of cheap booze. Papa-San had counted the gunshots, and as soon as he heard the pistols hit slide lock, knew both weapons had been fired dry. He popped up like a deadly jack in the box, this time with the shotgun loaded with double ought. He fired both barrels at once, making it impossible to identify the punk on the right without fingerprints and DNA and catching the junior desperado standing next to him with enough buckshot to partially remove his left arm.

The kid waiting in the car knew from all the gunfire that things were not going quiet as planned. He snatched the sixteen off the seat, pulled back the charging handle, loaded a round into the chamber and set the selector switch to full auto. He burst through the door just as Papa-San, thinking there were only two would-be robbers, was opening the armored door of the cash booth. He opened fire, emptying the clip into the elderly Cambodian and chewing up a magazine rack filled with comic books and soft porn. He quickly reversed the clip, loading the sixteen with 30 fresh .223 rounds.

He pulled open the door and kicked Papa-Sans bleeding body aside. He tossed a canvas bag to Mama-San, who was cowering on the floor. "Put the money in the bag, bitch, and I won't shoot." She emptied the contents of the safe into the bag as the first police officers responded, the sound of their sirens screaming through the quiet of early morning. He put one round through Mama-Sans chest, adding lying to the list of sins he had committed that morning.

He grabbed the bag and ran for the door as the first blue and white screeched to a stop. He opened fire as the two officers were getting out, stitching the squad car and the officers with NATO approved steel jacketed bullets. He emptied the clip and ran for the get away car. An empty weapon was at best a club and he wasn't planning on sticking around long enough for hand to hand. He hurled the weapon to the ground and kicked it across the street, hoping it would slide across the asphalt and into the storm drain, and took off in a hurry, burning rubber and scraping a layer of paint off the blue and white responding from the opposite side of the street. He turned left, then right, then took the second left until he was in the warehouse district. Most of the buildings on Waipahu Depot Street had been slated to be torn down in a burst of urban renewal dollars and the prospect of low income housing. Now most of the buildings stood empty and decaying with signs every few feet informing anyone who didn't want to die from exposure to the assortment of chemicals the Navy and Marines corps had been storing at the Depot since the mid thirties to stay away. He found the warehouse with the broken lock and pulled in, effectively disappearing into the gloom.

He wanted to count the cash, only survival instincts outweighed greed. He cautiously checked his surroundings and when he had reassured himself no one had seen him, he ran to the front gate, grabbed the chain and lock he had stashed earlier under a nearby bush. He chained and locked the gates, taking care to leave the lock hanging on the side of the gate facing the street. That done, he gave the building itself a good once over and secured all the entrances. Now he had time to leisurely peruse the canvas bag. He opened the bag and emptied its contents onto the still warm hood of the getaway car.

"That lousy gook bitch," he said through clenched teeth as he pawed through the banded newspaper clippings. "That cheap ass slant-eyed bitch. What a fucking rip-off!"

There were two bundles of obviously marked cash mingling with the bundles of scrap paper; a hundred in tens and fifty in ones. He would just about bet the farm the old gooks had a list the money's serial numbers stashed under the cash drawer. Leave it to a pair of conniving slant eyes to cover all their bases.

He should thank Papa-San for killing both his stupid partners. Three months of planning for a lousy hundred and fifty bucks. Those two were too stupid to live.

All he had wanted was a little cash to tide him over until his real partner found the right buyers for the real merchandise. He smiled, thinking about the bright side of things. With his two business associates dead, he didn't have to share, and there was an even less of a chance for betrayal, or of his shadow partner finding out. He had been ordered to keep his mouth shut and to keep a low profile and he was fairly certain that this mornings activities were going to be anything _but_ low profile.

O-O-O-O-O

Compton and Marks were second on the scene and were nearly creamed by the suspect pulling out in one hell of a hurry, taking the driver's side mirror and the spotlight with him and leaving one of the cars fancy spinner rims and a streak of black paint from the front fender to the trunk. As much as they would have liked to have given chase, they had a more pressing concern. Two officers were lying in pools of blood. Marks was on the radio before the squad car even stopped rolling.

"10-99! Officers down! Repeat: officer's down, McCully and South Beretania. We need backup and ambulances. Officers down! We have multiple gunshot victims. Approach with caution. We do not know if the shooter is still at the scene. That's at McCully and South Beretania. All units, all units, 10-99 McCully and Beretania!"

Every police officer, on duty or off who heard the call would be hurrying to the scene. A 10-99 meant only one thing, that a brother or sister was hurting and it was time to issue some payback. Within minutes the area was crawling with police officers and paramedics.

Compton was checking the driver of the squad car. The man was half in, half out the car, still conscious, and having a hard time breathing. He'd been shot in the upper right chest and shoulder and from the look of it, the Kevlar vest he was wearing had only managed to slow the bullets down. He recognized the man as Jonathan Campbell. He'd gone to the academy with Campbell and they had both served in the Gulf War. "Hold on, buddy, he said, "ambulances are on the way."

"Bastard had a sixteen," Campbell managed to get out. "He tossed it when it ran out of ammo." He leaned back against the seat, those few words having exhausted him.

Compton went around to the other side. Campbell's partner was a female rookie of Chinese descent named Marsha Hong. She had caught two to the neck, just above the collar of her Kevlar vest. The bullets had blown out her carotid artery. She had bled to death before she'd hit the ground.

More officers and ambulances arrived. One of the EMT's was applying a pressure bandage to Campbell's wound and another pair were starting CPR on Hong. Compton and Marks, guns drawn, entered the small shop.

It was like walking into an abattoir. The floor was slippery with a combination of blood, liquor, spilled soda, and, bizarrely enough, pig feet. One of the suspects was dead, most of his face gone and what few brains he had were splattered across the wall behind him. His partner in crime was still alive, although bleeding profusely from a nearly severed arm and he appeared to be going into shock from blood loss and pain. Compton holstered his weapon, grabbed the suspect's belt, and used it as a tourniquet. He stripped off the skull mask. The kid couldn't have been more than sixteen.

"What's your name, kid?" He asked."

"Kini," he said. Compton could tell the kid was terrified. "Am I gonna die?"

"Probably not today," Compton said. "ETM's are on the way." The kid's eyes rolled back in his head as he passed out. Compton checked his pulse and found a weak one. Chances were the kid would live if he made it to the trauma center in time.

He opened the door of the cash booth to find Papa-San's bullet riddled body kicked into a corner like so much dirty laundry, his shotgun lying empty on the floor next to him. Mama-San, had a serious chest wound but was still alert, and, unless he was wrong, very, very angry.

She was muttering something in a language he didn't understand. "Where are the damned medics?" he asked the world in general. Suddenly, there were EMT's everywhere. He got out of the way and let them do their job.

He went outside, leaving Marks and Kanoa to get what info they could from the victims. Campbell was being loaded into an ambulance for transport the hospital. Campbell had said the shooter had an M16 that he had tossed when it was empty. There was one vacant parking spot in front of Campbell's squad car. If the getaway car had been in that spot, and if the shooter had tossed the gun, then maybe it had landed across the street, possibly under the dry cleaners delivery van parked by the curb. Compton got down on his hands and knees, and there it was, the business end halfway down the storm drain. He cautiously pulled the weapon out by the strap.

He stared at the weapon but didn't touch it. Marks came over to see what his partner had found.

"Is that what I think it is?" Marks asked, frowning, "Because if it is, the shit is about to well and truly hit the fan."

"It's exactly what you think it is. It's an M16A4 with taped together 30 round magazines. Why me, Lord? Why is it that every time some damned fool on this blasted rock gets his hands on military ordnance, I'm the one who gets to call the Big Man? While I'm doing that, see if you can find someone who can understand what Mama-San's saying. I think she's Cambodian but don't get me to lying." He looked over to where the EMT's were trying to revive Officer Hong. McCully street was starting to look like Iraq's Highway Through Hell. He shuddered as he hit the button on his rover unit. He had more pressing matters than Desert Storm bullshit. "Central, this is Compton, patch me through to McGarrett at Five-O, please."


	2. Chapter 2

O-O-O-O-O

Chapter 2

McCully street had been blocked off by HPD. The officer directing traffic pointed McGarrett to the gas station across the street where a staging area had been set up. Word must have gotten out on the coconut wireless because it seemed like every Cambodian in the area was congregated behind the police tape, some crying, some visibly angry, some, the ones who had survived one of the most evil dictatorial regimes in history, only stood there, eyes focused on a point half a world away.

The thousand-yard stare. McGarrett had first encountered it while still in the Navy. You saw it in the eyes of soldiers and sailors who had seen too much, men who had been in combat too long. The shrinks at the VA had a new name for it these days. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, a benign sounding name for disorder that meant you had been through hell and lived to tell about it.

He strode over to where Duke and Compton were talking to Che Fong. Che was in a throw away coverall and was wearing knee high plastic shoe covers spotted with blood. He gave Duke two bagged handguns and began scraping samples of the paint left by the fleeing suspect from the blue and white's fender, hoping to have enough of the sample to get a match with the make and model of the getaway car.

"What have we got, Duke?" Steve asked.

Duke handed him a set of shoe covers. McGarrett had a thing for Italian ankle boots and got annoyed when he had to throw a pair away because of bloodstains. "A mess," Duke said. "We've got one wounded officer on the critical list, and one dead female rookie, one dead suspect and one in the hospital who's probably going to lose an arm. The shop is owned by an elderly Cambodian couple, Chhay and Rachana Bunroeun and I doubt I'm pronouncing that right. Their customers called them the usual Papa-San and Mama-San. Papa-San is dead from multiple gunshots and Mama-San has been transported to Queens with a bullet in her chest."

"Any idea what caused the shootout?" McGarrett asked. This was a bad one and the press was going to be all over it. The TV news crews, photographers, and newspaper reporters were just beginning to set up in the parking lot of a furniture store down the block. McGarrett was hoping the owner was charging the vultures premium prices for the privilege.

"Mama-San knew just enough Mandarin to tell Chin that two of the suspects came in about ten minutes after they opened for the day, demanding money. Mama and Papa were already in the cash booth with the doors locked. Mama hid behind the counter, hit the silent alarm, and used her cell phone to call 911. Papa unloaded with two barrels worth of bird shot, ducked down to reload, waited until both the suspects ran out of bullets, and came back up firing buckshot. Mama said they thought it was just the two of them. Papa opened the door to get their guns and the third suspect ran in, shooting. He emptied one clip into Papa and anything else he could hit, told Mama to empty the contents of the safe into the bag or he'd shoot her and he shot her anyway. Hong and Campbell pulled up and were getting out of their car when the suspect ran out of the building. He opened fire, killing Hong, and wounding Campbell. When he ran out of bullets, he tossed the weapon. Chin went to the hospital with Mama-San, in case she has any more information and central dispatch has most of the robbery on tape. Mama kept the phone line open until HPD got here."

"Did she give a description of the suspect?"

"Same as the other two. She said it was demon. All of them wore ski masks with skulls printed on them and desert cammo."

"Any idea how much the demon got away with?"

"Mama-San says about a hundred and fifty bucks. It was their decoy stash. They didn't keep money in the safe, just a bunch of banded newspaper clippings and the decoy money. She kept a list of the serial numbers under the cash drawer. Four people dead for a hundred and fifty bucks." Duke said, looking disgusted.

McGarrett shook his head. With determination, a man could earn that much and more in a day, but that would require work. The criminal mind would never cease to amaze him. A criminal would put hours of preparation into a crime that would only net them a few hundred dollars, while turning down honest work that would have netted more. It was times like this that made him despair for the future of the human species.

"Now comes the scary part," Compton said, indicating the weapon now bagged and tagged as evidence. "The suspect had two thirty round clips taped together. He emptied one while he was inside, reloaded, and emptied the other into Campbell and Hong, then he tossed the weapon. I found it under the dry cleaner's delivery van. Sir, this is one of the new sixteens."

McGarrett gave the weapon a closer look. Except for a few minor differences, it looked like the M16's the military had been using for years. "What's the difference between this one and the old ones?" he asked.

"Not much," said Compton, an armorer in the Army Reserve. "A couple of changes to the flash suppressor, removable carrying handle, a rail system for mounting extras like laser sights and grenade launchers and it's supposed to function better in desert conditions. Uses the same ammo the old sixteens did, same magazines, and most of the same parts. What gets me is the weapons aren't in general distribution to the troops. Only a few special ops units have them, the rest of us are waiting until there's enough of the new ones in inventory to swap them out for the old ones, and that's not going to happen until next year."

McGarrett nodded in agreement. "I see your Army reserve training is paying off."

"Thank you, sir. I spent last summer's drill time learning everything about that weapon you'll ever need to know and last month's Reserve meeting was a briefing on the swap itself. Last I heard, this Rock isn't even due a major shipment until next year, when the A4 gets distributed Army wide. As of now, most of the ones available are going to units already in the Middle East."

"Duke, isn't this the same weapon you have for the HRT?"

"The same, only ours are mounted with the laser sights and most of my shooters have already removed the carrying handles as redundant." Duke was in charge of Five-O's newly established Hostage Rescue Team. The team members were volunteers, working extra hours for training with the Army's HRT at Schofield Barracks. Duke had hand picked his team from volunteers from HPD, Honolulu Sheriffs, and Harbor Patrol, impressing some of the Army's top brass with their abilities. "I keep ours locked down pretty darn tight at HPD's armory. If it's at all possible Peterson and his team at Schofield have theirs locked down even tighter. One of these brings anywhere from 3 to 10K on the black market, depending on how its configured."

"Yet suspect number three managed to get his hands on one. Why do I have a feeling we're going to be working with the Army on this?" He bent to pull on the shoe covers. "May as well have a look at the crime scene. How bad is it?"

"Bad enough," Duke said. "But the smells even worse."

Duke was right, the smell was awful; a combination of blood, cheap booze, and the sharp smell of vinegar and spices from the shattered jar of pickled pig's feet. There had been a two-gallon jug of surprisingly popular pig appendages on the counter along with a set of tongs attached by piece of string. The customer got to choose and bag the foot of their choice, with or without toenails. When the jar was shattered by gunfire, the feet made a run for it and were scattered all over the small shop. McGarrett nudged a trotter out of his way, this one complete with toenails, to speak to the morgue tech who had just finished bagging the body for transport. "Any ID?"

The tech was one of Doc Bergman's interns. When he had taken the internship in pathology he didn't know he'd be spending a semester working for the coroner, or that Doc was a firm believer in 'hands on' training. "No ID on the body. I'm hoping his buddy knows where to find his parents. This one can't be more than sixteen. I'm hoping he's got prints on file somewhere, if not, it's going to be DNA. All I can tell you for sure is he's a Pacific Islander. If Dr. Fong is done here we're ready to move the bodies."

Che nodded his go ahead. The morgue techs loaded both bodies onto gurneys and rolled them out the door to their waiting van.

McGarrett looked around for the camera. The smaller mom and pop stores had found that a security camera drastically cut down shoplifting and paid for itself with the savings.

"It's up there," Che said, pointing to a small black globe attached to the ceiling near the back of the store. "I'm getting a warrant for the footage. It's stored on a computer in the back room. I don't know if we need a warrant for an active crime scene but this is one I don't want to lose on a technicality. These people survived living under Pohl Pot and the Khmer Rouge and came to this country to escape the violence. All they wanted was to live in peace, and now this happens. There are a lot of angry Cambodians out there on the street, Steve."

"Understandable, Che," he said. "Only this isn't Cambodia. The last thing we need are people taking the law into their own hands."

"You know how it is with a lot of the refugees from Southeast Asia. They don't trust the police. That's probably why Papa-San had the shotgun."

"Makes you wonder if he'd still be alive if he hadn't had it."

"I doubt it. Those two fired their guns until they were empty and the third one was firing at anything that moved. It's a miracle he didn't shoot a bystander, like kids on their way to school or a lady out walking her dog. Mama-San told Chin the suspect said if she put the money in the bag he wouldn't shoot her, but he did it anyway. He just didn't give a damn. We need to find him before anyone else gets hurt."

Che very seldom swore, but when he did, you knew he meant it. "Che, when you get back to the lab, that rifle is priority one. Dust it for prints and dust the magazines and the shell casing. Then take it apart and dust the pieces. Call me as soon as you get the serial numbers for the rifle and the magazines. Danny's about to spend some quality time in the computer lab. Let me know when you get the security tapes. You're authorized all the overtime you need to get me some answers by tomorrow morning."

Che smiled for the first time since he had walked into the shop. "Tomorrow morning? Usually you want things faster than that."

"The governor is on the Big Island for his niece's wedding. He won't be back until tomorrow. When he hears about this, he's going to want answers. Get them for me."

Duke joined him as he was leaving. "Steve, got a description of the getaway car from the clerk at the gas station. She says it's some sort of black hot rod, a Camero or a Trans Am was as close as she could get to the make. She said it had a hood scoop and some of those fancy rims that were probably worth more than the entire car. That jives with the black paint chips Che got off Compton's blue and white."

"Now we're getting somewhere. Check the hotsheets. See if anything fitting that description is missing, then run it through R&I."

"Will do. It'll come back with about a thousand hits but we can narrow it down from there. Especially since he lost one of the driver side wheel covers. Oh, crap! I do not need this kind of aggravation today!"

Duke, usually the quietest and most polite person Steve had ever met, sounded irritated. Steve was wondering what was up, until they were waylaid by Mark Meyers from Channel Nine news.

"Ah, Mr. McGarrett, Sgt Lukela!" Meyers gushed. "Just the gentlemen I was looking for!" He was smiling in a way that put Duke in mind of a predatory slug.

Before Steve could give his usual "no comment" Duke snapped back his reply. "The answer is still no! It was no last week and it will still be no next week! My wife doesn't want to work for you or anyone else. She's retired! All she wants to do is stay home and take care of our family. If you call her one more time I am going to have you charged with phone harassment and if you wake the baby again I'm going to let Susan deal with you the way she use to deal with annoying soldiers. Are we clear on this?"

Meyers held up his hands, palm up, in surrender. "Then I was hoping she'd put in a good word for me with Mrs. McGarrett, that's all. It'd be a shame, though, to break up such a good team."

"Meyers," Steve said. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Duke answered for Meyers. "For the last two weeks this idiot has been calling Susan, and Maggie, too, under the pretext of offering them jobs with Channel Nine. Susan has told him no repeatedly and Maggie is simply ignoring his calls and email."

Steve gave Meyers one of the looks he usually reserved for a guilty suspect to dumb to know the jig was up.

"My wife is medically retired from the Army. Her only job now is taking care of me, and according to my secretary, that's at least three full time jobs rolled into one. I'll have a statement for the press about the robbery as soon as I have a few more answers, until then, no comment."

"Do you have a comment on the fact that HPD just lost their first female officer," Meyers shouted as they were leaving.

Duke turned and gave the man a look that would have frozen Kilauea. "When a police officer, any police officer, male or female, is gunned down in the line of duty, finding the killer becomes our first priority. You, nor anyone else in that pack of scavengers you call a press pool, are not to say a word about that officer's gender until her family is informed. We have at least a dozen women on the street at any given time. That's a dozen families that don't need the uncertainty. Now run along to your little friends and we'll get back to you after we have informed her family."

Steve didn't need to say anything. Meyers had just been on the receiving end of a Duke Lukela's anger. It didn't happen very often, but when it did, he didn't leave room for doubt. Meyers turned and dejectedly made his way back to the press pool, knowing his best bet was to set up at HPD headquarters and wait for the press conference.

"You okay there, Duke?"

"I will be. Marsha Hong was in one of the last classes on crime scene procedure I taught at the Academy. Smart girl. She would have made a damned good cop. I'll meet you back at Iolani, I'm going to stop by R&I and then check with Family Services, see if either of the families needs anything. Then I'll pick up Chin from the hospital. They took Hong to Queens even though we could see there was no use. They always do that for officers."

"Go ahead," Steve said. "Make sure the families have Five-O's contact numbers. She was Chinese? Have Chin stay with the family if a translator from HPD hasn't made it by yet. I'll see you back at the office."

The two men walked back to the black SUV's that had replaced the Mercury and Ford sedans Five-O had used for years. Both were in extraordinary good shape for men reaching the later years of middle age. Steve had turned 55 on his last birthday and Duke would be 51 in May, four years younger than Steve. He surfed whenever he could get a board in the water, and usually outran everyone but Steve on the track, and Steve would be the first to admit it was only because he had the longer legs. As Steve got in his SUV for the drive back to Iolani, he was hoping like hell Duke would stay on after he retired. Danno was going to need a good second.


	3. Chapter 3

O-O-O-O-O

Chapter 3

The first thing McGarrett did when he got back to his office was call the governor. He gave Jameson a brief rundown on the shooting. Then he asked the question that had been bothering him since Compton had informed him of the type of weapon used during the robbery.

"Governor, I need to know if the rifle used this morning has anything to do with the investigation of missing weapons the Army was conducting last year, and if it is, I need to know the details. I've got three dead bodies, one of them a female rookie HPD officer. If the military has any leads, they need to share them."

Jameson was not in a good mood. He had been hoping for a few days respite from his duties as governor while attending his niece's wedding. He called the Hilo and the Big Island home, only these days he was lucky to get there twice a year. When his office had called earlier with the details of the shooting, he knew it was only a matter of time before McGarrett would call. "If the military is investigating, they haven't informed my office. I'm going to make some calls and see what I can find out. I have a feeling that if the military isn't in on this yet, they will be soon. Get me as much information as you can and be ready for a meeting at 0800 tomorrow morning."

"Will do, sir. Sorry to have bothered you."

He hung up the phone, took off his jacket and loosened his tie. Time to go to work. He went to the chalkboard he refused to part with and wrote down the few facts they had. Three suspects, one dead, one in ICU, and one on the run. A black getaway car, some sort of black muscle car with a hood scoop and missing a wheel cover on the driver's side. The suspects had been wearing desert camouflage and ski masks printed with skulls. Three weapons recovered at the scene, two Glock 9's recovered inside the shop, and one M16A4, a weapon that wasn't as yet in general use by the military, recovered from the street. He stepped back from the chalkboard, thinking. Who would have access to the Army's latest and greatest weapons? Armorers and military gunsmiths. That could also explain the desert cammo. Maggie had a couple of boxes of old uniforms containing everything from basic training olive drab to the latest in desert cammo, with boots to match. Hawaii had troops from all branches of the service, most of them stationed on Oahu. Surplus cammo would be to easy to obtain to be a solid lead.

There was a brief knock and Danny came in holding a sheath of computer printouts. As soon as Che had called with the serial numbers from the rifle he had gone to the computer lab. Two hours later he had an answer that he knew McGarrett wasn't going to like.

"What have you got for me, Danno?

"A lot of answers that lead to a whole lot of unpleasant questions. I ended up tracing that rifle all the way back to the factory. That gun, along with five hundred more just like it, were in a shipment bound for Diego Garcia."

"If it's suppose to be on Diego Garcia," Steve asked, frowning, "what's it doing here?"

"I asked that same question and I still don't have the answer. Here's what I do know. That weapon was in a shipment that left the factory in Columbia, South Carolina in May of last year, by rail, destination the Port Hueneme Naval Station. From there it was loaded onto the _Coos Bay_ for transport to the Middle East, where the entire shipment was offloaded and stored in a warehouse on Diego Garcia. I spent an hour on the phone with the Navy's logistics commander. She has a list of the serial numbers for every weapon that was in that shipment and is having a 100 percent inventory check done even as we speak. She says it's slow going but she should have an answer for you later on this evening. I hope you didn't have any plans for tonight."

"No, but I have a meeting with the governor at 0800 tomorrow morning. Hopefully between the time zones and the dateline I'll have an answer for him."

"Commander Nicholson told me she's been fighting with both the Navy and the Army about how these new weapons are shipped and stored. She gets a list of the serial numbers that are suppose to belong to the weapons in the shipment. There's no way to check the numbers against the list because they're in wooden packing crates sealed at the factory. You need a crowbar and brute force to get one open, and the crates aren't to be opened until they reach the designated units. Then the armorer unpacks them and adds them to his inventory list. Until then, there's no way of knowing the serial numbers without an inventory check, and Commander Nicholson says she doesn't have to time or the manpower for that and it isn't required."

"Sounds like a logistical nightmare."

"According to the commander, it is. She's even suggested having the serial numbers stenciled on the cases, but the idea was vetoed as a security risk. The one good thing in this whole debacle is she keeps the warehouses storing weapons under tight security. She's got everything from motion detectors to infrared as well as cctv cameras trained on the crates. She says she knows that if the weapon was stolen, it wasn't stolen from her storage facility."

"Probably not. The _Coos Bay_ is homeported in San Diego. Get a list of her port calls for her last WestPac. In fact, get a list of every port call she's made since the Gulf War. I'm curious as to how often she stops in Honolulu."

"You got it. Wasn't your sister-in-law on the _Coos Bay_ during the Gulf War?"

"Yes, she was. I don't think the Navy has been the same since." _Nor_ , Steve thought, _has_ _Kono._ "Remember when Mother's Helper tried to blow us up and we got a visit from Lieutenant Colonel Yablanski the next day?"

"Kinda hard to forget the explosion, or our suspect disappearing." Danny was still irked about Army CID swooping in and making off with one of their suspects, especially one with no qualms about providing bomb making components to a delusional psychopath.

"As I recall, he said ordnance bound for the Middle East wasn't getting there. Give Beverly a call. Find out if there's theft of any kind being reported from any Navy ship, and if there is, find out what's going missing. Then put in a call to Yablanski, see if he knows anything about this."

"I'll get on it right away. Gives me an excuse to talk to my wife, and to let her know I'm going to be late getting home."

Duke and Chin came in as Danny was leaving. Both men were looking grim. McGarrett hoped they had positive news. They didn't.

"Officer Campbell died during surgery," Duke said. "Kevlar isn't worth a damn against high velocity rounds unless you're wearing combat armor and he wasn't. All the vest Campbell had on did was slow the bullet down."

McGarrett sat down, dropping his head in his hands. "So now we have two dead police officers instead of one. Any leads on finding our shooter?"

"Che's been performing miracles there in the lab, Boss," Chin said. He had been unnaturally quiet since Lin had passed away the previous June, speaking only when he found it absolutely necessary. "The paint chips he scraped off Compton's blue and white match up to paint used on Pontiac Trans Am's and Chevy Camero's from '81 until present. Got about fifty of them in Honolulu according to R & I."

"That's going to take some legwork to narrow down. Call Chief Dann and tell him we need a couple of officers assigned to this case until we find that car."

"Not necessary, Steve," Duke said. "An '85 black Trans Am was reported stolen from a housing area on Ft Shafter last week. It's registered to Staff Sergeant William Johnston, but it's driven and maintained by his son Aaron. Son's having a meltdown because he's having to drive his mom's Chevette to school instead of his 'cool' ride. The kid has about a hundred pictures of himself posing with the car. The wheel covers were a match; purchased from the hobby shop on post. I've already put out an APB. Now all we have to do is find the car thief."

"The only good news we got," Chin continued, consulting his notebook, "is the kid that Papa-San shot is going to make it, and if he's really lucky, he may even get to keep his arm. His name is Walter Kaimana, also known as Kini, age sixteen, got a juvie record dating back to when he was ten. Small time stuff, mostly, shoplifting, possession, truancy, nothing violent until today. The deceased suspect is Leo Kepano, also sixteen, same type of juvie record, nothing violent or involving firearms until today. He and Kini were cousins. Leo's parents are blaming Kini, and Kini's parents are blaming Leo. I'm having HPD keep an eye on both families."

"Good idea." Steve said. "We don't need a family argument turning into a brawl. Has the Kaimana kid been questioned by anyone?"

Duke shook his head. "Nope, and it'll be unlikely until tomorrow. He's in surgery and probably will be for next eight hours or so. I'm thinking the kid with the sixteen had to be the brains behind the outfit. Kini and Leo weren't known for their intelligence and it's doubtful they could have acquired those handguns on their own. I got the serial numbers off the Glocks from Che. Both were stolen from a sporting goods store on the Big Island two years ago. Che's going to run the ballistics as soon as he's done dusting the rifle for prints."

"Has he found any?" McGarrett asked. He was getting the feeling he was going to be working very late tonight.

"Not on the outside," Chin said. "Got a couple of partials off the magazines and he's hoping the shooter broke it down and oiled it before firing it for the first time and didn't bother to wipe down the component parts. Even if the prints belong to someone in a military arms room, at least we'll have a place to start looking."

Duke's cell phone rang with a call from Che requesting that he come by the lab as soon as possible. He left almost as soon as he ended the call.

Chin was studying the chalkboard, trying to make sense of it all, as he added Officer Campbell's name to the list of the dead. "Got a minute, Steve?" he asked, turning to face McGarrett.

"Sure," Steve said. "What's up?"

"I just wanted you to know that I appreciate everything that Maggie and Susan have done. I wouldn't have been able to cope without their help."

"Those are two very amazing women," Steve said.

"You and Duke were blessed with those two. I don't know what my family would have done without them being there. The kids think the world of them, especially my little one. I know she's at your place or Susan and Duke's almost as much as she is home. I don't want her to become a bother. If-"

"Chin, stop fretting," Steve interrupted. "Tilda, and the rest of your kids, are welcome at our house any time and the same goes for Duke and Susan, and Danny and Beverly as well. Your kids are _Ohana_. Tilda has done a better job helping Maggie cope with that damned PTSD than anything the docs have come up with, and for that, I will be eternally grateful. Your kids could never be a bother. Not for any of us."

Chin nodded gravely. The last year had been rough. "Thank you, Steve. Please let Maggie, Susan, and Beverly know how much their help has meant to me."

"Chin, old friend, they know already."

For the first time in ages, Chin smiled like he meant it. "Tilda still wants to be a police officer when she grows up. After she gets out of the military. Only she can't make up her mind if she wants to go to West Point or Annapolis."

"Don't tell Maggie or Susan," Steve said confidentially, "but Duke, Beverly, and I are trying to steer her towards Annapolis."

"That's my girl. I've got a couple of informants down by the docks I need to see. If cargo is being stolen from Navy ships, they'll know about it."

"Give Kono a call while you're at it and see if the sheriff's department has anything on stolen freight."

"On it, Boss." Chin said. He returned to his cluttered office. The walls were decorated with pictures of his kids, and on his desk was a black and white photographer of a much younger Chin standing next to a radiantly happy Lin, taken on their wedding day. He sat at his desk for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He took out a legal pad, fished a pen out of the desk drawer and wrote a brief note in both English and Chinese. When he was done, he carefully folded the note and sealed it in an envelope addressed to Jenny. If the last year had taught him anything, it was that life was fleeting and uncertain. He placed the envelope in the folder that every police officer has stashed in case the worse thing that could happen, happens. Feeling better after one little piece of uncertainty had been put to rest, he called his old friend at the sheriff's office.

O-O-O-O-O

Che had the sixteen taken apart and lying in pieces on a clean sheet of white plastic. He held up a plastic bag containing a small bolt with a horizontal hole bored through the shaft at one end and a curved, square head on the other. It belonged to the rifle's bolt carrier group and was used to lock the bolt to the barrel extension.

"Our shooter did a good job of cleaning up after himself," Che said. "No prints anywhere except for a few smears on the magazines. He only left one and it's a real dandy. I've got a partial thumb print covering the entire surface of the head of the cam pin. It looks like he used his thumb to push the cam pin into place and forgot about it when he reinserted the bolt carrier group back into the rifle."

"Clear enough for a match?" Duke asked.

"Clear enough for court, when it gets that far. I wish all your suspects would be so thoughtful. I also ran the ballistics on those two stolen Glocks used in the holdup. If they were used in any other crimes, they weren't fired."

"That's a relief. At least now they're off the street. Thanks, Che. I'll get the prints to the computer lab to see what the techies can come up with." He took the fingerprint card that Che offered and headed back to Iolani Palace. They had one very good partial print to go on. If they were lucky, it would be enough.

Danny was at the lab, going over a stack of printouts with Pacita Mendoza. They were searching every database the Pentagon had, looking for stolen military ordnance. As it turned out, there was quite a lot.

"Che find anything interesting?" Danny asked, looking up from the printout and rubbing his bleary eyes. He was starting to wonder if maybe he needed reading glasses.

"Maybe," Duke said, handing Mendoza the fingerprint card. "Che got a very good partial off the cam pin of the sixteen. Miss Mendoza, this is top priority, please." He gave her the fingerprint card to scan into the system. "Check Army and Marine records first. They're the most likely, but hit Navy, Air Force, and Coast Guard as well. Any word back on the serial numbers?"

"Not yet," Mendoza said. "Still waiting to hear back from Diego Garcia."

"What's with that stack of printouts?" Duke asked.

Mendoza shook her head. "Would you believe a list of all stolen military ordnance that passed through Hawaii and never made it to it's final destination? This is some scary stuff. Most of it's small arms, if you consider a grenade launcher small arms."

"Not to mention Claymore mines, light anti tank weapons and few shoulder launched missiles," Danny said. "Enough firepower to start your own revolution. I thought you and Steve had arsenals. This makes what you two have look like pea shooters and potato guns."

Mendoza passed him a copy of the list. "Here you go, sir," she said, shuddering. "This is enough to give you nightmares."

"Thanks, hon," Duke said. "I'll take this back to my office. Let me know if you need anything."

"Convince my girlfriend to move in with me," Mendoza asked, hopefully. "Even the president says don't ask and don't tell. My parents have met her and think she's wonderful. Colonel Dale doesn't have a problem with it either. Only her parents don't know and she's afraid to tell them."

"I'll ask Susan and Maggie talk to her, but eventually she's going to have to tell her parents," Duke said, wondering what he would do if either of them were his daughter.

"Thanks," she said, picking up the fingerprint card. "I'll scan this high rez and get it in the system. If the prints on file, I'll have for you first thing in the morning."

"I'll drop these off upstairs and then I'm off to the hospital to see if Mama-san is up to questioning. She seemed like a tough old bird," Duke said.

Danny nodded in agreement. He was always amazed at the resilience of the older immigrants. Most of them had survived war, famine, and refugee camps for a chance at freedom and had claimed the American way of life as their own. "Most of them are. Guess they have more to lose."


	4. Chapter 4

O-O-O-O-O

Chapter 4

It was getting late. Steve checked his watch. It was ten minutes after nine. He'd called Maggie at four to tell her he didn't know how late he was going to be. Susan had dropped by around six, bringing in food for the crew. He was beginning to wonder if there was a duty roster for the chow run. These days when the detectives were working late, Maggie, Susan, or Beverly would bring in food. Their reasoning was if they didn't, the men would all die from malnutrition.

Chin's call to Kono had gleaned very little of use to the current investigation. The harbor wasn't in the sheriff's office jurisdiction. The Navy took care of security for their facilities, the Coast Guard, harbor patrol, and customs handled the rest. Kono said he'd run down a few of his snitches on Hotel Street and in Chinatown that afternoon and would get back with him in the morning. Knowing Kono, if there was anyone who knew about theft from the docks, he'd find them.

McGarrett, Duke, and Chin Ho were going through the computer printouts of missing ordnance, making a list for search warrants. They were using the list of street gangs, militias, and known gunrunners as a starting point. McGarrett wanted the missing military hardware found and disposed of before any of it ended up on the street. Hawaii wasn't going to turn into a war zone on his watch.

"Makes you wonder if the weapons were transshipped to another country," Duke said, frowning. "This much firepower hasn't made it to the street. The last incident we had involving military hardware was when that dumb kid going home on leave forgot he had a practice grenade in his pack and set off every metal detector at the airport."

"It has been surprisingly quiet of late. Makes me wonder if its the calm before the storm. This is only the stuff they know about, or are willing to tell us about."

There was a brief knock. Danny came in carrying a stack of printer paper. "I just got the report from Commander Nicholson. She is not a happy girl."

"Why's that, Danno?" Steve asked.

Danny had made copies of the report and was handing them around.

"When she started inventorying weapons this morning, she discovered that not only was the sixteen we have down in the lab missing from the shipment, so were 49 more. The guns are packed 25 to a crate, and each crate is bar coded with a sequential serial number for security and accountability. She gets a printout with the crate numbers on them, and when they are offloaded into the warehouse, the numbers are scanned into a database. There is a shipping manifest with every serial number on every crate in a shipment. Except in the shipment our rifle was in, the last two crate numbers are missing from both her database and from the warehouse, however, the serial numbers for the missing weapons were still in the system. That was how it was determined how many rifles are missing. Somehow, between the factory and Diego Garcia, the crates dropped off the shipping manifest."

"That was from the shipment that was brought over on the _Coos Bay_?" Steve asked.

"The same," Danny said. "Only it gets worse. Commander Nicholson had three more shipments come over on the _Coos Bay_. She's having those inventoried also. She's already found two missing crates from one shipment and is expecting to find the same in the others. She's also found three crates of missing laser sights, a crate of missing M203 grenade launchers, and a dozen light anti tank weapons."

"My god," Steve said. "That's two hundred military grade automatic rifles unaccounted for. Is someone trying to start their own private war? What about ammo? If they have the guns, they're going to need ammo."

"That's the one bright spot," Danny said. "Commander Nichols doesn't store the ammo, just the guns. The ammo didn't change, so no need for new stockpiles. Most ammo is shipped with the equipment for each unit in the field. Plus 5.56 rounds are easy to obtain on the civilian market. It's the same caliber for a number of popular deer rifles and is sold at every sporting goods store on the Island."

"What about grenades for the M-203's?" Duke asked.

"A little more tightly controlled but still shipped out with the unit's equipment and supplies. Maybe a little harder to come by, but not impossible. There's probably a ton of them stashed at Schofield Barracks and the Marine base. I'm more worried about the missing LAW's than the grenade launchers. Those thing are designed to stop tanks and armored vehicles."

"Just when we thought it couldn't get any more complicated. We have to find out how the crate numbers dropped off the shipping manifest," Steve said, standing up and trying to stretch the kinks out of his back. "The techies have all gone home so that's going to have to wait until tomorrow. That's it for now, gentleman. Danno, head for the computer lab first thing, and send out a notice to any store that sells the ammo. If anyone's stocking up, we need to know who they are and where they live. Chin, go by the hospital in the morning, see if Mama-San's remembers anything else and see if our suspect feels like talking. He's probably lawyered up by now but explain to him and his parents how a little co-operation goes a long way. Duke, meeting with the governor at 0800. Let's all try to get some rest. I have a feeling we're going to need it."

O-O-O-O-O

Maggie was in the living room working on her latest needlework project and watching the early news when she heard the front gate open and Steve's SUV pull into the driveway. She dropped the hoop on the coffee table and ran to meet him at the door, throwing her arms around him before he had a chance to put his briefcase down.

"What's this all about?" he asked, smiling down at the green eyed woman he loved more with each passing day.

"About time you got home," she said. "I saw the news report on that awful shooting. Every time I hear a police officer has been shot I panic until I know you're safe. Susan says she does the same. Then I'm afraid to answer the phone unless I see your name on the caller ID."

He disentangled himself from her embrace, put the briefcase on the table by the door. "Easy, Baby," he said. "Its been a long day." He settled down on the couch and loosened his tie.

"Want something to eat?" she asked, as she stood behind him to gently massage his neck and shoulders until she felt the muscles relaxing. "Susan said she was going to bring y'all some dinner, only that was hours ago."

"No, sweetie, all I want is to get a shower and go to bed. And before you ask, Jenny reminded me to take the blood pressure medicine before she went home."

She sat down beside him, snuggling up close. "I know I'm overreacting," she said. "I know the officers were from HPD but it doesn't matter. Every time I hear that a police officer has been hurt, my mind goes down a very dark path and stays there until I know you're safe."

He heard the near panic in her voice and pulled her into his lap, holding her close until she stopped shaking. "It's okay, sweetie. I didn't get to the crime scene until after the suspects were long gone. I didn't even trip on a pig foot."

She looked up at him, frowning in confusion. "Pig foot?"

"When the suspect opened fire he took out one of those big jars of pig feet you see on the counter of a lot of the convenience stores in Honolulu. There were pig feet everywhere."

She started giggling with relief. "It's going to take most of the night to get that image out of my head and it's all your fault but I love you anyway."

"I love you, too. Think you can put up with the anxiety of being a cop's wife for another five years?"

"Only if you promise to wear the Kevlar vest and come home to me every night. Are you sure you don't want something to eat?" she asked.

"Yes, sweetie, I'm sure. All I want is to get a shower and go to bed." Five-O may have had the latest in Kevlar vests, but Steve knew they were no match for a high powered rifle, especially at close range. He wasn't going to be the one to tell her that all Campbell's vest did was slow the bullet down. He held her tighter. "I promise," he said. "I've been wearing the vest all day and I'm ready to take it off." These days all the Five-O detectives wore the vest, especially after Duke had taken two rounds from a 9mm at close range and walked away from it.

"Really," she said, giving him that little half smile that let him know she was thinking naughty thoughts. "If you take the vest off, you may as well get totally naked."

"Yes, but you're still wearing clothes."

"You go get showered, Big Guy. I'll bet that when you're done you find a naked lady waiting for you in bed."

"That's my little _Menehune_ ," he said, smiling.

O-O-O-O-O

Old habits were hard to break. Maggie had been retired from the Army for months, but her internal clock was still set to go off at 0430. It wasn't so bad, she had confessed to Susan one afternoon over margaritas on the lanai, because it meant she got to have breakfast with Steve. After years hurried chow hall breakfasts, she had come to appreciate the quiet intimacy of breakfast with her husband, and Steve said it was the one peaceful moment in the day that he could count on.

"No run this morning?" she asked as he joined her in the kitchen, kissing her on the cheek before he poured the first cup of coffee. He had invested in a coffee pot with a timer and set it for five before he went to bed. Maggie may have been a good cook, but her lack of coffee making skills had become legendary.

"Karate this evening at five, if I can get away," he said. Karate was one of the things he was planning on dropping as soon as he retired. He was getting too old to get tossed around by kids half his age. He was working on a black belt in Kendo, that is if his hands and shoulder muscles held out.

"Going to be another long day?" she asked as she was flipping pancakes onto a plate next to bacon cooked the way he liked it. She put the plate on the table, along with a pitcher of maple syrup, butter, and a bowl of peaches sauteed with vanilla, cinnamon, and nutmeg. She got her plate and sat down across the the table.

"Yes, starting with a meeting with the Governor at eight. I'll be home late again." He reached across the table to take her hand. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I know there are days when it seems like I'm never home."

"I understand, really I do," she said, giving him a sad little smile. "It's your job. It's what you do best."

"Speaking of jobs," he said. "I had a very brief conversation with Mark Meyers at the crime scene."

"That man does not know how to take no for an answer," she said, looking aggravated. "He's been calling me and Susan both for the last two weeks. I stopped answering his calls and his emails. What did he do, ask your permission for me to work for him? Or did he think you'd tell me to do it?"

Steve couldn't tell if she was joking or not, but the way she stabbed an innocent peach with her fork was a good indication she was annoyed.

"Baby, I told you when you retired from the Army the only job you had now was taking care of me." He smiled at her. "Plus becoming Hawaii's next famous writer. I'm just wondering why you didn't tell me earlier."

"Maybe because you and Meyers have a history and I didn't want you to get upset? Susan and I both know the only reason he wants to hire us is because he thought he was going to get a direct line into Five-O headquarters. As if that was going to happen!" She took a bite of her pancakes and chewed thoughtfully. "Susan is having way too much fun being a full time mom and trying to plan a wedding by long distance and e-mail. And as for you, my dear husband, you are just plain high maintenance."

"I am not high maintenance," he said, smiling back at her. "You are intent on spoiling me."

"And your problem with that is?"

"None whatsoever. In fact, I am enjoying it immensely. How's the writing coming?" he asked, changing the subject. He'd read the first five chapters of the first draft and was waiting for more. She had decided on fictionalizing her journals instead of writing a biography. That way, she'd said, she could change the names to protect the guilty.

"It's getting there. I will have some more for you to read this weekend."

"I will look forward to doing that. Is Tilda coming over this afternoon?" Tilda Kelly, Chin Ho and Lin's surprise baby and the youngest of their eight children, spent most of her afternoons at either Susan and Duke's house or theirs. Maggie and Susan had volunteered to care for the little girl before Chin returned from bereavement leave after Lin had passed away. Tilda was becoming such a fixture at their house that Steve had even suggested redecorating one of the guest rooms for her.

"Yes. I'm picking her up after school. We're going to work on costumes for her school play." Maggie had started volunteering at Tilda's school, stepping into the spot Lin had once filled.

"That's my girls," Steve said. Tilda may have lost one mom, but she'd gained two new ones, three,if you wanted to count Beverly. Beverly's schedule with the Navy kept her busy, but she always made time for the little girl on weekends. He finished his breakfast, swallowed the blood pressure medicine that had became a part of his morning routine, and got up from the table to kiss Maggie good-by. "I'm off to work. You girls try to stay out of trouble."

"You keep safe," she said. "I'll see you tonight." She listened to the sound of his SUV backing out of the driveway, followed by the sound of the security gate closing. She rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher with the ones left over from the night before. When the machine was full she started the wash cycle, wiped down the table, and then headed to the bedroom to change into her bathing suit. She swam every morning, and more often than not in the afternoons if Tilda wanted to go in.

 _Five more years until he retires,_ she thought, _my Lord and Lady, please let my nerves survive five more years._


	5. Chapter 5

O-O-O-O-O

Chapter 5

"He's waiting for you," Luanna said, ushering Steve and Duke into the governor's office. She left quickly, shutting the door firmly behind her.

The governor had company. Andreaus Yablanski, now promoted to full colonel, and Ensign Beverly Williams as well as a Navy lieutenant in the BDU's of pier security Steve didn't recognize were seated by the governor's desk. They shook hands all around with Beverly getting brief hugs from Steve and Duke.

"I believe you all know each other already, except for Lieutenant Hoffman. Lieutenant, this is Steve McGarrett and Duke Lukela from Five-O and this is Lieutenant Jackson Hoffman from NCIS Pearl Harbor. He is in charge of pier security." Jameson said, frowning. "It would appear that we have a serious problem on our hands."

"Does it have anything to do with approximately two hundred missing M16's?" Steve asked.

"Among other things," Colonel Yablanski said. He had flown in from Washington as soon as he had learned of the incident involving the stolen weapon. He was feeling cranky from jet lag and too much caffeine. "I was first alerted to the problem of the missing weapons two years ago. At first, we thought it was explainable. Sometimes things get mislabeled and end up in the wrong place. Human error. As much as we hate to admit it, it happens all the time and usually the missing weapons would turn up in some odd places. This time it's different. It's the new M16A4's that are missing. These weapons aren't yet in general issue, making them harder to track. We didn't know they were missing until yesterday when your man Williams called my office."

"NCIS has been investigating theft from the ships for some time now," Beverly said. "At first the only things going missing were from ships stores. Things like tools, office supplies, spare parts, and computers. Things that were easy to unload on the black market or the local swap meet. We busted that little enterprise last month. Netted a couple of senior chiefs who were stocking up for retirement and the civilians who were helping them. My department at the NCIS office here in Honolulu wasn't made aware of the ordnance thefts until late yesterday."

Lieutenant Hoffman took over from Beverly. He was tall, with dark brown hair and eyes. He had broad shoulders and a trim waist that had him in the gym pumping iron three times a week to maintain. He wasn't bad looking, and knew it, and considered himself a ladies man. He had set his sights on the redheaded ensign as soon as she had reported for duty at Pearl Harbor NCIS, only to be shot down with every attempt "That will be all, Ensign. As you know, the Navy has a habit of keeping things compartmentalized. That way we don't step on each others toes during an investigation. Ensign Williams' department was tasked with finding missing supplies, and as the most junior officer assigned to NCIS, investigating weapons theft is way above her pay grade, Commander."

"I'm retired," Steve said, "Mister will do. I know how the Navy runs their investigations. One department very seldom knows what another one is doing. That may have worked during World War Two, but it's not working now."

"We are well aware of this, Mr. McGarrett," Hoffman said, sounding irritated. The night before Hoffman had been interrupted in the middle of 'festivities' involving a ditzy blonde clerk from personnel by a call from Commander Graham, the head of NCIS Honolulu. His orders were to co-ordinate with Colonel Yablanski and Five-O, and to give them any information or assistance they needed. Hoffman knew McGarrett was a retired Lt. Commander with a reputation for being one tough cop who didn't tolerate bullshit or sloppy police work. Colonel Yablanski was a career soldier and a military problem solver. Lukela was a Navy veteran from the Vietnam era and an experienced street cop who knew the back alleys and footpaths of Honolulu like the back of his hand. All three represented the best in their field. The only one in the group he considered a wild card was the red headed ensign assigned to this case because she possessed a very unique skill set. Hoffman didn't like working with woman, especially one with a reputation for being an efficient, no nonsense officer of above average intelligence. He had a thing for redheads with Southern accents. Too bad this one claimed to be married, a fact that bothered him not at all. He considered it a challenge. _You deserve a nooner,_ he thought, especially after that dumb twat from Naval personnel had left while he was on the phone with Graham.

"Last year one of our assets here in Honolulu was compromised," Colonel Yablanski said. "We were forced to cancel our investigation into arms thefts before we got any solid leads. At the time, we were investigating the theft of the older model M16's, claymore mines, and antitank weapons. Mr. McGarrett, your team and Commander Nicholson on Diego Garcia have accomplished more in the last twenty-four hours than either mine or the Navy's has done in twenty-four months. We didn't know until yesterday that the missing weapons were all on from the same ship, the _Coos Bay_."

"According to the report you sent Commander Graham, someone in the _Coos Bay's_ cargo department has found a way to make things disappear from the shipping manifest before it's delivered. If that's true, and I have my doubts about your 'theory,'" Hoffman said, making those annoying air quotes to emphasize how little regard he had for the idea. "If, and its a big if, then it has got to be someone who's been around long enough to know the system and how to get around it."

"The Army was using the Navy ships to transport weapons because we thought it would be more secure than using Merchant Marine ships, and it was more cost effective," said Colonel Yablanski. "Apparently by doing so, we put the fox in charge of the hen house."

"Now wait a minute, sir!" Hoffman interrupted. "It was the Department of Defense's computers that were compromised, not Navy personnel!"

Yablanski glared at Hoffman. "A minute ago you were saying you didn't think much of the theory the shipping manifests had been changed and now you're saying the computers did it all by themselves? Are you aware of how ridiculous that sounds?" Yablanski had immigrated with his parents from Yugoslavia when he was four. He had a slight European accent that wasn't noticeable until he started getting annoyed and his patience was wearing thin. McGarrett and Lukela both watched with interest as Hoffman's face flushed red with embarrassment.

Hoffman had wanted to be career sailor. He'd earned his commission through ROTC and had landed in security, a job where minimum effort could lead to maximum profit. There had been days when he could disappear to the golf course or for a nooner with any woman falling for his questionable charms with no one being the wiser. But all that was before the damned Gulf War. These days Command wanted to see results and the new rules for fraternization had put a serious damper on his love life. His last evaluation had came back with a note informing him that when his current tour of duty was up the Navy would no longer require his services.

"Gentleman, please," Governor Jameson said. "We are not here to establish blame. This afternoon I will be paying condolence calls to the families of the officers killed by one of those stolen weapons. I want the rest of weapons found and off the streets before anyone else gets hurt. Steve, what has Five-O discovered?"

"We've got a list of the serial numbers for all the weapons that were suppose to have been stored in a warehouse on Diego Garcia, along with the serial numbers of the missing laser sights, grenade launchers, anti-tank weapons, and shoulder launched missiles. My computer tech has flagged the serial numbers. If any of the guns show up anywhere, we will know about it. The information has also been passed on to Interpol as M16's seem to be the weapon of choice for terrorist groups. If any of those weapons are used in a terror attack, we'll know about it."

Colonel Yablanski nodded his approval. "The only drawback is we won't know who has the weapons until they've been used, unless we get extremely lucky."

"Tell me about your suspects," Jameson asked. "I understand they were teenagers."

Hoffman sat up straighter and listened attentively as Duke consulted his notes."They were both sixteen, sir, and they were cousins. Both had juvenile records dating back to when they were in elementary school. Walter 'Kini" Kaimana and Leo Kepano. Kepano was killed by Mr. Bunroeun with a blast from a shotgun. Kaimana is in serious condition at Queens. He was in the line of fire and the blast nearly took his arm off. We haven't had a chance to talk to him yet, but Chin's at the hospital this morning to speak to both Kini and Mrs. Bunroeun. The two Glock 9's the kids had were stolen from a sporting goods store on the Big Island two years ago. Neither weapon has been used in any previous crimes, or if they have been, they weren't fired, and the only prints on them were from the suspects. Che got one very good partial print from the bolt carrier of the sixteen used in the shooting. Ms Mendoza is running that through every database she can access."

"This means you haven't identified the suspect who killed the two officers and Mr. Bunroeun?" Jameson asked.

"Not at this time," Steve said. "All three of the suspects were wearing ski masks with red skulls printed on them. We're hoping when young Mr. Kaimana wakes up and discovers how much trouble he's in that he'll be happy to let us know the name and address of suspect number three."

"Ski masks in Honolulu," Jameson said. "Shouldn't be hard to find where they got them."

"According to Che, not here in Honolulu," Duke said. "Probably ordered them from the internet. We have search warrants for the two suspects homes, including any computers they may have had access to. If they used their home computers to order the ski masks, Mendoza will track the suppliers down. That young lady is tenacious when it comes to data mining."

"Why hasn't the suspect you have in the hospital been questioned?" Hoffman demanded. "He should have been questioned before he went into surgery."

Duke glared at Hoffman. "Kini Kaimana was in shock and unresponsive from blood loss. You can't question a suspect when they're comatose."

"Don't worry, Mr. Hoffman," McGarrett said. Hoffman was starting to get on his nerves and he was starting to develop and intense dislike for the man. "I'm sure Mr. Kaimana will enlighten us all on how his partner in crime managed to get his hands on an automatic weapon that should have been warehoused on Diego Garcia. If it isn't any trouble, I'd like to see a copy of the security protocol you have in place for the pier. It may give us some insight as to how high powered military ordnance managed to get off the pier in the first place."

"Listen here, McGarrett," Hoffman rudely interrupted. "You and Five-O and HPD can stay the hell off Pearl Harbor. The Navy Pier is not part of your jurisdiction."

"Have you ever bothered to read Five-O's charter, Lieutenant? There is a status of forces agreement that dates back before Hawaii became a state. There isn't a part of this state that isn't my jurisdiction. Your lack of security and unwillingness to share information has allowed the disappearance of enough military hardware to start a revolution. I want those weapons found and your security leak plugged."

Governor Jameson could tell McGarrett was rapidly losing patience with the Navy officer. "Gentleman, the question is how do we stop this? I will not stand by and see this Island become the home base for illegal arms sales."

"Well," Beverly said, hesitatingly. "Commander Graham does have a plan."

"Yes," said Hoffman. "All the missing weapons can be traced back to one ship, the _Coos Bay_. She was due to arrive yesterday, on her way back to the Middle East. She's been held off shore, in international waters to give credence to the cover story she's having engine trouble. She'll dock late this afternoon, and she'll be held in port for the next two weeks, under the pretext of having her portside engine serviced. That should give us plenty of time to find the source on the _Coos Bay_."

"Somewhere between Port Hueneme Naval Station and their destination on Diego Garcia, the crates those weapons were packed in disappeared and the crate numbers dropped off the cargo manifest," Colonel Yablanski said. "We're going to put an undercover operative on board, in cargo. One who will know what to look for and will know if anything is out of place."

McGarrett's alarm bells started ringing as he glared at Colonel Yablanski. "Who's going in?" he asked.

Beverly looked down at her feet. "Me, sir," she said quietly. Before Steve had seen her potential and had done everything short of bribery and blackmail to get Beverly a slot at NCIS school at Quantico, she had been a cargo loadmaster.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, concerned. Beverly, a Gulf War veteran, had been assigned to the _Andromeda_. On that return trip from the Persian Gulf, she was raped by a fellow sailor. Her rapist was finally brought to justice the previous year when he was sentenced to death by lethal injection for the murder of three active duty women and a long list of other charges, including multiple counts of sexual assault.

"Yes, sir," she said. "This is something I have to do. Besides, how many other NCIS officers do you know who can load cargo?"

Steve thoughtfully nodded his head. Danno was not going to like this turn of events. "When do you go on board?" he asked.

"In the morning, sir. The cover story is I will be replacing a sailor going on maternity leave. With any luck we'll have this case wrapped up before the ship sails."

"Check with Pacita Mendoza in the computer lab before you leave," Duke said. "She'll get you up to speed on what's missing and what to look for in the computer system."

"That's about it for now," Lt Hoffman said. "I've got to finish getting Ensign Williams' cover together. I'll be in touch. Come along, Williams. Some of us have work to do."

"It's been nice seeing you again, Beverly," Jameson said. "Please be careful. You're part of Five-O's _ohana_ and we don't want anything happening to you." He glared at Hoffman by way of warning. There was something about the man he didn't like, and it was bothering him because he couldn't pinpoint what it was.

"Thank you, sir," she said as she shook the governor's hand.

Steve and Duke, much to Hoffman's obvious displeasure, got hugs. "Take care of yourself, young lady," Steve said. "If anything happens to you I'll have to have Danno put down."

"Will do, sir," she said. "Don't tell him. I'll let him know this evening."

"You got it, hon. I'll make sure he gets home at a reasonable hour."

"She is a friend of yours?" Colonel Yablanski asked after Beverly had left.

"She's married to Dan Williams, my second in command," Steve said. "And a friend."

"She seems like a very competent officer. I understand she came up through the ranks like I did. She'll bide fine." Yablanski didn't learn to speak English until he had started kindergarten, and occasionally it showed.

"If she's not, we'll let you explain what happened to her husband and the rest of the Rose Warriors," Duke said.

"She's a Rose Warrior? I knew there was something special about that young lady," Colonel Yablanski said. Admittance into the Rose Warriors had to be earned. He was going to follow the young ensign's career with interest.

"I think we all knew that the first time we met her," Steve said. "She reminds me a lot of my wife."

Yablanski seemed to think for a minute. "You're right, she does remind me of Maggie, especially with the Southern accent and Maggie was a redhead until the war." He sighed, suppressing a sudden pang of jealousy. "Tell me, Sgt Lukela, how are Susan and the little one?"

"They're both fine. Micheal has six teeth and is learning to walk. I will tell Susan you asked about them," Duke said.

"Micheal Alden was a good friend. Sophie told me Lu named the baby for him and made Maggie and Mr. McGarrett the godparents. This is a good. Mr. McGarrett, my daughter speaks highly of you and I have decided that your son will be a good husband for my daughter. He is a very nice young man with a great deal of potential."

"Thank you, Colonel, Sophie is a sweet girl and very intelligent. You must be very proud of her. Governor, is there anything else you need from us?" Steve asked.

"Catch the man who gunned down three of our citizens before anyone else gets hurt. We've been a state since 1959 and this is the first time we've had a female officer killed in the line of duty, and a rookie officer at that. Find the monster who did this, Steve. I have a meeting with a group of Cambodian refugees this afternoon. They want more police patrols around the area and they want to know how anyone is allowed to get their hands on a military weapon. These people went through hell to get here, and for the most part have become good citizens of this state and this country. They want the kind of justice they never got in Cambodia."

"I will get with Chief Dann about more patrols in the area. Let them know that we're working nonstop to find the killer and bring him to justice." Steve said. The men shook hands with the governor as they left the office.

"What next?" Duke asked as they were walking back to Iolani.

"I want you there when HPD serves the search warrants for the suspect's house. You can spot evidence better than anyone I've seen, except me, that is."

"Yeah, right," Duke said, laughing. "I'll take Mendoza with me to search their computers."

"Good idea. With luck Chin will be back with a name for suspect number three. I have a feeling that when little Kini finds out he's looking at three counts of first degree murder he's going to sing like a canary."

"I don't care if he quacks like a duck as long as we get a name and address out of him," Duke said, as they parted company, Duke going downstairs to the computer lab, and Steve heading upstairs to his office.

O-O-O-O-O

Chin and Danny came in while McGarrett was getting a morning coffee. "Got anything useful for me?" he asked.

"I got to talk to Kini for about ten minutes, with his mom and his lawyer present," Chin said. "Get this, the mastermind, if you can call him that, behind the robbery is a kid everyone calls 'Doc' because he's always asking 'what's up', like he was Bugs Bunny. Claims he doesn't know Doc's real name, or his last name for that matter, only that he was some hot shot with the army. Told Kini and Leo he was a special forces trained sniper who had over fifty kills to his credit."

"And they believed him?" Steve asked with a raised eyebrow. "Did he say how old our sniper is?"

"All he knows is over twenty-one because he could buy beer legally. Got a description, about five eight, maybe 150 pounds, brown hair and eyes, claims to have descended from Hawaiian royalty and I believe that about as much as I believe the sniper story. I'm sending the sketch artist over this afternoon when the doctors are saying Kini should be more alert."

"Good work, Chin, did you get anything else from Mama-san?"

"Sorry, boss. Didn't get a chance to speak to her again. She took a turn for the worse last night and is in ICU on a respirator. The doctors aren't holding out much hope."

"Any luck with the fingerprint from the rifle, Danno?"

"We've got two geniuses working for us, Che and Mendoza. Che for finding forensic evidence and Mendoza for telling us who left it. We got confirmation from the National Guard about ten minutes ago. That print belongs to one Private First Class Sylvester Martin Hadley. He's assigned to the 55th Supply and Service Battalion. Chin and I are going to take a ride out there and see what we can turn up. If nothing else they should have a current contact information for Private Hadley."

"Good work, gentlemen. This one's on the front page of every newspaper on this rock. I want this wrapped up and those guns found and off the streets as soon as possible."

Danny and Chin left to find their suspect, leaving Steve alone in the office with a stack of paperwork. It seemed like that was all he did these days. He left the paperwork on his desk and went back to the chalk board he refused to part with. Everything was on computers these days but he could connect the dots easier if he saw things diagrammed on the chalkboard.

The stolen weapons all came from one ship, the _Coos Bay_ , a tender ship that was used to transport equipment and supplies to military installations all over the world. Someone on that ship had figured out a way to remove crate numbers from the shipping manifest. That explained why the crates weren't missed at their final destination. But how did the crates get off the ship without authorization? Where else but hidden inside a shipment scheduled to be offloaded in Honolulu. That meant that someone on the pier had to be in on the scheme. He buzzed Jenny on the intercom.

"More coffee?" she asked.

"Not at the moment," Steve said. There were times when he thought Jenny knew him better than his wife. "Could you get Beverly on the phone for me. She should be at the NCIS office at Pearl."

"Coming right up," she said. Five minutes later Beverly was on the line.

"What can I do for you today, Commander?" she asked.

"I'm retired now. It's just Steve."

"Old habits are hard to break, sir," she said.

"Can you get me a record of all the cargo offloaded here from the Coos Bay for her last four outbound stops?"

"Would you believe I asked for those earlier, both inbound and outbound? Commander Nicholson said she'll have them for me by noon our time and I will forward copies to you and Pacita when I get them. I hate trying to run down information across time zones and datelines."

"Good work, Ensign," Steve said. "I see Quantico is still turning out good officers. It would seem Commander Nicholson is as anxious to get this thing solved as we are."

"It won't look good on her record if we don't find those weapons. I don't think she's been home since she found out about the missing ordnance. She's the first female ever appointed to logistics command on Diego Garcia and she's got enough rank to make it look good in the press if they need someone to fall on their sword. It's time to help out another female sailor. I've got a meeting with Pacita Mendoza in the computer lab at one. I'll bring you copies of everything as well as sending an email."

"Thanks, hon. I saw your last evaluation report. You're doing a great job at NCIS. We're all very proud of you, especially you husband."

"Hey, you're retired! How'd you get a copy of my eval?" Beverly demanded, trying not to giggle.

"Old habits are hard to break," he said. "I'll see you this afternoon." He hung up the phone, still smiling. If any good came out of Five-O's hunt for a serial killer, it was Beverly Patterson-Williams. The red haired sailor from Alabama was evolving into one very good cop. Governor Jameson had called her part of Five-O's _ohana,_ and she was. She was a perfect fit with the rest of the crew. She had been inducted into the Circle of the Rose Warriors after Beverly had told Maggie and Susan about her time aboard the _Andromeda_ during the Gulf War, the two Army sergeants deciding that she had shown remarkable courage and fortitude for one so young. Steve was hoping that when her hitch with the Navy was done, she'd come to work for Five-O.

That reminded him of something he should have done months ago. He buzzed Jenny on the intercom again. "Jenny, could you get Sgt Sandra Welles on the line for me please?"

"Piece of cake," Jenny said, smiling. She buzzed him back when Sandy came on the line.

"Mr. McGarrett, what can I do for you today?" Sandy asked, sounding as chipper and upbeat as ever.

"Are you very busy this week?" he asked. "If you have the time, I'd like to take you to lunch."

Sandy raised an eyebrow. She couldn't help but wonder what McGarrett had in mind. If the rumors were true, he was on the lookout for female officers for Five-O. She crossed her fingers, hoping. "How about Thursday?" she asked. "I'm in court all day so I know I'll have at least an hour and a half for lunch. Judge Makala always has a nap after he eats."

"Then I'll meet you at the Courthouse Grill, about a quarter after twelve."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll see you there." She hung up the phone, thinking maybe she should invest in a new suit. It always paid to look good in court.


	6. Chapter 6

O-O-O-O-O

Chapter 6

His day was going from bad to worse. First the robbery had netted what amounted to chump change and according to the latest from Channel Nine, one of his partners in crime had managed to survive and was listed in critical condition at Queens hospital. He still had hopes the idiot would die before the cops could question him. He knew he had left no physical evidence at the scene because he had been wearing a ski mask and gloves. The last thing he wanted was for the police to be looking for him. If his real partners discovered his extracurricular activities, there would be hell to pay. The last thing they wanted was to have Five-O on their trail.

Two years ago he had been approached by one of his co-workers at Pearl Harbor with an offer that sounded too good to be true. The Navy, he had been told, was like a giant shopping mall, only you didn't need to bother paying. There were all sorts of goodies on those ships, waiting for the right person to come along. He had a buddy working in cargo who knew how to tweak the numbers on the shipping manifests and no one would be the wiser. Hell, as far as he was concerned it wasn't even stealing because it was all government property, kinda like collecting Social Security early, only without having to let the IRS in on the profits. At first it was only things like tools and computers. Then they found out the real money was in black market weapons. He received his instructions from a voice over the phone. He would find the instructions for where he was to deliver the stolen goods on a clipboard lying on the seat of the box truck he used to transport cargo from the ships to a warehouse. Sure, it was dangerous. If Shore Patrol or Pier Security caught him he would be looking at serious time in a federal prison and accidents were a common occurrence on the docks. So what if his co-worker had met with a very messy workplace accident. Everyone knew that when it came to offloading cargo if you didn't move fast enough you ended up as a greasy spot on the pier. Even the local coroner had ruled the accident 'death by misadventure.' Now it was just him, the sailor who doctored the shipping manifests, and the mysterious voice on the phone. The less people involved, the better. He had occasionally used Kini and Leo for some of the heavy lifting involved. In fact, they had been hired by his partners at his suggestion. Trust those two dimwits to screw it up for everyone else.

He had received a phone call the night before, just as he was starting his dinner break at the Pier. He had customers coming, the kind who paid with cash. They wanted to check out the goods. He did as he was told and had the samples out for his customers to look at. Everything was as it should be. Except his customers were late.

He had two of the weapons on hand. The rest were stashed in a bunker hidden in the hills just outside the fence surrounding Schofield Barracks. When the Corps of Engineers built something, they meant it to last, and although the big artillery pieces had been removed years ago, the bunkers were still standing. He was even willing to bet that the Army had forgotten all about them.

If the customer's didn't get a move on, he was going to be late for work, and he couldn't be late, today of all days. He worked mid-shift at the Navy Pier, offloading cargo and delivering it to various warehouses around the Island. His contact, a shadowy voice on a burner phone, had advised him of another shipment and had already doctored the paperwork to show two less crates of goods. It was a piece of cake. Load the crates into the middle of a pallet stacked with boxes to be offloaded at Pearl Harbor. Load the boxes into the back of the truck heading to a warehouse in Pearl City. Make a short detour, offload the crates marked "Property of the US Army" at a different location, a location that always changed with the instructions on the clipboard. Deliver the real cargo to it's final destination and he was home free. In the two years he had been hauling stolen goods, he hadn't been asked a single question by the SP's on gate duty. He suspected they had either been paid off or were in cahoots with his partner. He would return later to open the crates, remove the items inside, and then transport them to the bunker. Only he couldn't be late for his job. Not today. If the boss gave his route to another driver, he was screwed. His partners really needed that last shipment.

He heard them before he saw them. Five big Harley's with loud pipes and ape hanger handlebars ridden by five of the biggest, ugliest bikers on the Island. Two of the bikers had skinny _haole_ skanks riding bitch. He'd heard about hot biker chicks his entire life. Maybe these two hadn't gotten the memo. The biker's called themselves Lucifer's Legion. They were making a killing in the manufacturer and distribution of methamphetamine and were looking to branch out by investing their money in illegal weapons. This particular cohort of scooter trash was also affiliated with a group of white supremacists hell bent on starting a race war. All of them had prison records and all were blooded members of the Aryan Nations. Two had bad paper discharges from the Army and one was a disbarred lawyer, proving that it is possible to be educated beyond your intelligence. They rolled up into the warehouse, the sound of their engines reverberating off the metal walls and ceiling.

He hadn't expected them to be so damned big.

"You Doc?" asked the biggest one. He had Willie Nelson braids and a beard that a troop of boy scouts could get lost in.

"Yeah," he said, trying to sound tough. "I'm going to assume you are the Legion."

"Don't assume jack shit, sonny," growled a second biker, this one with a greasy blonde pony tail and a braided Fu Manchu mustache that reached halfway to his belly.

The other three sat on their bikes, vests open, to reveal that they were strapped and ready for war, if necessary.

"I'm the Wolfman," said the big one with the braids. "You got the goods?"

"You got the cash?"

"Show me yours and I'll show you mine, punk, and you'd better not be wasting my time."

"Over here," Doc said. "I've got two samples. I wasn't born yesterday and I don't keep my inventory here." He had two M16A4's laid out on a blanket on the hood of the stolen Trans Am, along with two thirty round magazines and a pair of laser sights. "These are the Army's latest and greatest. You have these, you outgun everyone on the Island, including Five-O. I can start you out with a hundred of the standard model. Three grand each. If you want the laser sights, I can get them, only it'll take a little longer. Same with the grenade launchers, only those come high. Five G's each. You want the fancy ones with all the bells and whistles and the bullpup conversion kits, those will run you ten grand each."

The bikers were looking over the weapons. "Where's the ammo?" Wolfman asked.

"Not here," Doc said. "Do I look that stupid?"

"If you think I'm paying three large for a hundred of these you are. I'll give you two grand each, plus another two hundred for every laser sight you can come up with."

"You got the cash?" he repeated.

"Yeah, we got cash. You get five now and the rest on delivery. And we'll take these two with us. Mongo, give the man his money and get a receipt." Wolfman was the disbarred lawyer in the group. He'd done hard time for beating the crap out of judge who had ruled against him in a lawsuit. He really hated losing. "We'll take delivery of the rest day after tomorrow, and you'd better have all of them. Call and let me know where to pick up the merchandise. And if I see anything that even remotely resembles a cop, military or civilian, there won't be enough of you left to drape a flag over. Understand?"

"Understood." He was beginning to wonder what he'd gotten himself into, but he saw Mongo counting out the cash while one of the gunman silently disassembled the weapons and stashed them in the saddlebags of their bikes. Mongo held out a receipt book. Doc took it and signed a receipt for 5K for miscellaneous parts and services.

Wolfman was glaring at Doc. "I suggest you invest in a police scanner. You hear all sorts of interesting shit on one of those. Like how yesterday three complete idiots shot up a couple of old gooks for a handful of change and managed to take out a couple of cops in the process. The traffic camera on Beretania street got a good shot of the car peeling out of there like his head was on fire and his ass was catching. Some black wannabe hot rod POS Pontiac that's probably got one hell of a scratch down the drivers side and is missing a wheel cover. The Mario Andretti wannabee driving it sideswiped a blue and white and left the wheel cover in the middle of the street. HPD and Five-O are going to be out for blood on this one. I'd advise keeping that hunk of scrap metal off the streets for the next six months, then sink it in the ocean."

They revved up the engines on their bikes and roared out into the street.

He sat down on the hood of the car before his knees gave way. There was no way anyone saw his face and he knew damned well he hadn't left any fingerprints. Kini and Leo had screwed this one up royally. No more partners for him. From now on he'd concentrate on the big picture and leave the penny ante bullshit to the amateurs.

He parked the car deeper in the gloom of the abandoned warehouse, near where his truck was hidden. As he was getting into his truck for the drive to work, the special cell phone rang. He noted the phone number on the caller ID. As usual, it was a different number from the previous one. "Doc here," he said, wondering if he was being watched. The voice on the other end always seemed to know where he was and what he was doing. Or maybe he was being paranoid.

"Plans have changed," came the voice of his real partner. "The shipment won't be ready to move until tomorrow or the next day. You get the down payment from Legion?"

He gave a brief thought to telling him they'd only came up with three grand and keeping two for himself, only that damned disbarred lawyer with the Willie Nelson braids had made him sign a receipt.

"Yeah, I got it. Five g's in twenties.

"Good. Leave the money on the passenger side floor of your truck. Leave the door unlocked. How many units do we have on hand?"

"As of this morning 197," he lied. "Legion took three with them." He was hoping it was a lie that would fly, because if it didn't, he was going to have to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why the missing weapon was now in the custody of Five-O.

"You hear about the robbery yesterday? Your shithead cousins shot up a couple of old gooks and a pair of pigs. Did it with one of the new A4's. McGarrett and his crew are going to be all over this one like white on rice. The damned docks are crawling with fuzz. If I find out you're selling my merchandise to jobbers, the only way you will never get off this damned rock is in a shark's belly. Now get your ass to work and keep a low profile. I'll take care of everything else." The unseen caller hung up with a loud click.

He dropped the cell phone back into his pocket. Great. Cops everywhere and his boss knew about the robbery. Last he heard, Kini was still listed as critical. Maybe Kini would do them all a favor and die from his wounds. All Doc had ever wanted was to get his money and get the hell off this godforsaken rock in the middle of the damned ocean. He was going to take his money and move to Texas or Arizona or even freaking North Dakota, as long as wherever it was wasn't surrounded by water and you couldn't drive across the place in two hours. _Island paradise my ass_ , he thought. _If I ever hear another ukulele playing again it'll be too damned soon._

After carefully closing and locking all the doors of his borrowed warehouse, he pulled cautiously into the afternoon traffic. The last thing he wanted was to get a ticket with five grand of someone else's money on board.

O-O-O-O-O

Kini was lying back in his hospital bed, cruising on pain killers and watching Jerry Springer. His moms had said the show was trash and wouldn't let anyone in the house watch it, so he always went to his cousin Leo's to watch the show. Leo's parents were a lot more laid back about things like Jerry Springer and underage drinking. Hell, Leo's parents had even shared their weed with the boys, something his churchified parents would never do.

He had given the old Chinese cop and the lawyer his parents had hired just enough information about his partners in crime to get them off his back for a while. His moms had cried and begged when the cop told her he was facing three counts of murder one, but that the DA might let him plead down to a lesser charge if Kini cooperated with the police. He'd given them a name and a vague description and not much else. He knew if he kept his mouth shut he was still in for a cut of the profits, only since Leo bought it, it'd be a bigger cut.

On that happy thought he pushed the button for the morphine pump and felt the tingle of drugs on demand. He waited the allotted fifteen minutes and hit the button again. By the third button push he had a good buzz going and was feeling no pain.

That was until someone put three bullets in his chest at close range with a suppressed pistol, but only for a minute.


	7. Chapter 7

O-O-O-O-O

Chapter 7

Headquarters Company of the 55th Supply and Service Battalion was located at the rear of Schofield Barracks Resupply Center, near the back gate of the Army installation. It was a one stop shopping center for office supplies, replacement parts, and vehicles. Danny and Chin left the black SUV with it's government plates parked in a no parking zone. It was a work day for the troops and the parking lot was packed. The two detectives entered a building that reeked of recycled air, petrochemicals, and pine-sol. They flashed their badges at the soldier currently keeping the world safe for democracy with a selection of office supplies and porn magazine cleverly hidden in a parts manual.

"I'm looking for Master Sergeant Briggs of the 55th S&S Battalion," Danny said, shaking his head at the oldest porn hiding trick in the book.

"What'd he do?" asked the soldier who looked all of nineteen. "He in trouble?"

"No," Danny said. The kid was sounding way too hopeful. "We need to ask him about one of his soldiers, and no, I can't tell you which one."

The kids face fell in disappointment. He was bored out of his skull with desk duty. Join the Army, they said. See the world, they said. What they hadn't told him was that Schofield Barracks was in the middle of nowhere on an island in the middle of the damned ocean, and if he was really really lucky, he might even get a chance to actually see some water instead of a tangle of rain forests populated by vicious blood sucking mosquitoes large enough to require tail numbers from the FAA before he ETS'd from the Army. "His office is at the end of the corridor and on your right. His name's on the door, you can't miss it."

Briggs turned out to be one of those old school NCO's who knew everyone and everything that went on in his battalion. He'd fought in ever skirmish the US had been involved in since Korea. He'd retired once, only to re-enlist for the National Guard when he got bored with fishing and doing his wife's never ending list of household chores. Danny introduced himself and Chin Ho and got to the point.

"We're trying to locate one of your soldiers, PFC Sylvester Martin Hadley. We need to ask him a few questions about where he was yesterday morning."

"What'd he do this time?" Briggs asked, sighing a put upon sigh. "He in trouble?"

"We won't know until after we speak to him, sir." Danny said.

"Don't call me 'sir', I work for a living," Briggs said. The police looking for one of his soldiers, even one as annoying as Hadley, meant extra paperwork and paperwork of any kind always made him cranky."As for your boy Hadley, if he's in trouble it won't be the first time, and probably not the last. He's been a pain in my ass since he reported for duty. He shows up for just enough meetings to keep from getting booted back to the street."

"Do you have an address and phone number for Mr. Hadley?" Chin asked.

"He lives with his mom and it's her address, so it should be good. As for the phone number, your guess is as good as mine. If you will excuse me a minute, I'll get his file."

Briggs was back a few minutes later carrying a yellow file folder with Hadley's name printed on the tab. "Here you go, gentlemen. If you arrest him, make sure it's something that will stick. It would save me the time and trouble of out processing this dimwit."

"Is he a troublemaker?" Danny asked.

"Is he still breathing? He's a wannabe Sgt Rock. Thinks he knows every damned thing there is and will not shut up. He's your quintessential expert on everything, if you get my drift. You want the real scoop, talk to Sergeant Edwards and Lt. Davis. They have the misfortune of having him assigned to their platoon. Davis is the OIC and Edwards is his section sergeant."

"What's his job?" Chin asked. "Rumor has it he's a sniper."

"You're saying that with a straight face so obviously you know of the little punk. Sniper, my ass. He couldn't hit the side of a barn. From the inside. With the doors closed. His firing style is spray and pray. The last time he was on the range, I wanted to buttstroke him upside the head to see if I could knock a little sense into his dumb ass. As for his job title, he's suppose to be a supply clerk, only stuff kept going missing from the supply room, usually right after he bothered to show up for drill. He was smart enough not to get caught in the act but we knew it was him. Supply gave him to Edwards and Davis and they put him in the arms room cleaning weapons. Not even an idiot like Hadley can mess up with a can of RBC and a ramrod."

Chin and Danny exchanged glances. "When was the last time you did a 100% inventory on the weapons you have in the arms room?" Danny asked, frowning.

"The last one was in October at the end of the fiscal year. The next one is going to be in June, after the annual training exercise. Why do you need to know?"

Danny thought it over for about ten seconds. Briggs appeared to be a straight shooter. Danny wasn't getting any guilty vibes from him, nor was Chin. "Five-O, in conjunction with NCIS and Army CID, are investigating a string of weapons thefts. Yesterday morning a military weapon was used in a botched robbery that left four people dead, two of them HPD officers. Your man Hadley's thumbprint was found on the cam pin of the rifle. We'd really like to know how it got there."

"Crap," Briggs said, dropping heavily into his office chair. "You think Hadley was involved?"

"All we know at this time is we have Hadley's thumbprint on a weapon," Chin said. "That's why its urgent that we speak to him."

"One more question," Danny said. "Do you have any of the new M16A4's in your arms room?"

"You're kidding, right?" Briggs said, giving a short laugh. "The 55th is a rear echelon support group. We're so far in the rear we might as well be the damned caboose. We're not slated to get any new toys until around the turn of the century, and then we'll probably get them second hand from a field unit."

"You're still going to need an inventory of everything you have in your arms room, just in case," Danny said.

"Does Hadley have another job?" Chin asked. "I know National Guard is only part time and you said he don't show up for meetings that often. He's got to work somewhere."

Briggs looked disgusted with life in general and Hadley in specific. "He works on the docks as a delivery driver. The little punk's third cousin twice removed or some such bullshit like that got him a job with the teamsters. Remember a few years back when the entire port got sued for not hiring enough Pacific Islanders? Hadley has just enough Polynesian blood to qualify, but only just. He claims to be a descendant of Hawaiian royalty. More like a royal pain in their collective ass. He works mid shift at the Navy pier, the three to midnight shift. Go to the gate and ask for Doc."

"Doc?" Chin asked, frowning.

Briggs had a look of utter distaste on his craggy face. "Yeah, Doc. As in 'What's up, Doc?' I threatened him with a court martial if he didn't shut that shit up. Every damned time you saw the idiot it was 'wazz up, Doc'. And he'd say it in his rendition of the Bugs Bunny/Brooklyn accent. Thought he was Mel Blanc reincarnated and too cool for school. I was waiting for an excuse to take him out in the field and leave his sorry ass for the mosquitoes, but then, what did the mosquitoes ever do to me?"

Chin was looking through the file folder. He suspected the only reason Hadley was still associated with the military was because as a part time soldier he wasn't around enough to get into major trouble. "This picture recent?" Chin asked. It was the mug shot from Hadley's ID. _Brown hair, brown eyes, five-seven, 153 pounds, and about as Polynesian as I am._ The description in the file matched the one Kini had given. His cop senses were tingling. He instinctively knew that Hadley was as guilty as sin.

"It's from a couple of months back when the new ID cards came out. You can keep the picture, and the file, too, if you need it."

"Thank you, Sgt Briggs," Danny said. "You've been most helpful."

"If he shows up here," Chin said, handing Briggs a business card with Five-O's phone numbers, "Give us a call."

"Will do, now if you will excuse me, it seems like young Private Hadley is going to ruin my day without even being here. Edwards and Davis are going to be mad as hell when I call 'em off their civilian jobs and tell them about the inventory that's going to have to be done before anyone can go home this afternoon. I will call you when we're done, or sooner if anything is missing."

The detectives once again shook hands with Briggs and left the office. As they passed the front counter the clerk was still engrossed with his porn magazine. "Keep it up," Danny said, "and you'll go blind." The clerk immediately jumped to his feet to open the doors for them, his face flaming red from embarrassment.

On the drive back to Iolani Chin was going over their notes. "So far we got a name, and a nickname. Doc. Like that's original. I've got a cousin named Doc. He's a lawyer."

"And we've also got a Polynesian wannabe who works at the Navy Pier as a truck driver. Probably one of those box trucks used to deliver cargo taken off the ships."

"Got an address on Onipaa Street. Nice neighborhood. Lots of families. We gone need backup if he's at his mom's. Surround the place, hit hard and hit fast and maybe he won't start shooting."

"You think he's our shooter?" Danny asked. He had learned long ago to listen to Chin's hunches.

"My gut feeling is that Hadley's our man. Everything we have so far points in his direction. The thumbprint on the rifle, where he works, and the name 'Doc', even his firing style. Spray and pray. Gonna have to remember that one for the next time we go to the firing range. Sergeant Briggs confirmed the details Kini gave us and the fact that Hadley tends to exaggerate. I'll about bet that he was being evasive about knowing Hadley to try to cut a deal with the DA when he goes to trial. The only thing is neither Hadley or Kini are smart enough to put this kind of caper together. The botched robbery, yeah, 'cause that sounds like something they'd do, but not stealing weapons. This whole thing is too complex for a couple of kids and a wannabe war hero."

"Time to shake the trees and see what falls out," Danny said. "I'll drop you off at the Palace and head to the DA's to get warrant for Hadley's arrest and a search warrant for his house."

"I'll get copies of Hadley's photo and get a couple of plain clothes men on the docks to keep an eye on our boy until we get the warrants to pick him up." Chin said as his cell phone started ringing. He answered it, frowning. "Kelly here."

"This is central dispatch with a patch through from Sgt Compton. Hold, please." A few seconds later Compton was on the line. He told Chin Ho he'd gone to Queens for an unknown trouble call, only to find that the unknown trouble had a name and was an eyewitness to a triple homicide involving a stolen M16. Chin thanked him and closed his phone with a snap.

"Change of plans, Danny," he said. "Head for Queens with lights and sirens. Someone just put three slugs into Kini. He's dead."

O-O-O-O-O

They got to the hospital as McGarrett was pulling into the parking lot by the emergency entrance. Compton and Doc Bergman were waiting for them by the door of Kini's room.

"Okay, Doc," Steve asked. "What happened?"

"From the looks of it, someone shot Mr. Kaimana three times at close range. The entrance wounds look like a fairly large caliber weapon, possibly a .45 or a .9mm, probably with a silencer, since no one heard any shots. The duty nurse ran in when the alarm on every piece of medical equipment he was hooked up to started beeping at the same time. Which, by the way, gives us the exact time of death, 10:47 am."

"You mean someone strolled in here, put three slugs into our best witness, and then strolled out before the nurses could get in here to check the patient?" Kini was still half sitting up in the bed, his chest covered in blood that was soaking into the sheets. One of the nurses had obligingly tuned off the TV, consigning Jerry Springer and his sideshow to broadcast limbo. "No one saw anything?"

"We're questioning everyone who was on duty when it happened, sir," Compton said. "I've asked for the footage from the security cameras. Maybe the cameras caught something the humans missed."

"Get Che and a lab crew in here. I want ballistics on those bullets as soon as possible. Where are his parents?"

"They went home because HPD was there to search the place," Compton said. "No one's had a chance to let them know."

One of the first things Chief Dann had done when he took over HPD was to insist that bad news be delivered by a uniformed officer instead of over the phone, and when he could, sent an officer of the same ethnicity. "Duke should be at the Kaimana residence. I'll give him a call and make sure the parents are left alone until you can get out there. Robbie, looks like you're it for this one."

"Won't be the first time," he said. He instructed two of the officers responding to the call to guard the crime scene until Che was finished and sent the rest of the officers back on patrol.

"That kid's turning into a good cop," Chin Ho observed.

"He doesn't want his fiance to outdo him." McGarrett said. "From what I hear from the academy, he's going to have to step up his game to keep ahead of her." Ivory Thompson had ETS'd from the Army in January and had been hired by HPD almost immediately afterward. She was currently ranked number 5 in her class at the Police Academy. Compton had graduated 10th. "Danno, what did you get from your trip out to Schofield."

"An address and a file on Private Sylvester Martin Hadley, also known as 'Doc', who, when he's not cleaning weapons for the 55th S&S Battalion, works as a truck driver at the Navy Pier. I was on my way to the DA's office to get search and arrest warrants."

"Based on the words of a dead sixteen year old? This one's going to be tricky."

"When I questioned Kini this morning both his mother and his lawyer were present. They heard the entire interview and the lawyer had a voice recorder going. You think that's enough to get us a warrant?" Chin asked.

"There's also the thumbprint on the weapon," Danny said.

"You said he worked in the arms room, cleaning weapons," Steve said. "A half decent lawyer will shred that in court as being left during his normal duties."

"Yeah, except I asked about the new sixteens. The 55th doesn't have them and isn't expecting to get any until around the year 2000."

McGarrett nodded his approval. "Good, Danno, now we're getting somewhere. Chin, give Che a hand and get a copy of the security camera footage as soon as it's downloaded and get it to headquarters. Danno, get the warrants. Let's show Doc what's really up. I'll be at the Kaimana residence. Maybe mama knows something we don't."


	8. Chapter 8

O-O-O-O-O

Chapter 8

Beverly glanced down at her watch and then up at the clock on the wall, desperately wishing both would move faster. Fifteen minutes more and she could leave. She had a lunch date with Danny after she dropped off the hard copies of the _Coos Bay's_ cargo manifests for Commander McGarrett and then a meeting with Pacita Mendoza at one. She couldn't wait to get out of the office. Most of the morning had been spent being drilled by Lt Hoffman on her cover ID. She was going in using her former rate and her old work uniforms stenciled with her maiden name and with the rate and rank patches on the sleeves. Beverly didn't even consider it a cover, as it was her former job and she suspected the only reason Hoffman had insisted on going over the details repeatedly was because he was trying to impress her with his dedication to duty and for the opportunity 'accidentally' brush her breasts and thighs. He had left at ten, supposedly for a meeting with the harbormaster and so far, he hadn't returned. She was hoping he wouldn't be back until after lunch. She'd had about enough of his double entendres for one day and she was still nauseated from the encounter. The man was making her physically ill and she was beginning to think being charged with sucker punching him with her extendable baton would be totally worth it.

Beverly had never worked with Lt. Hoffman before and if she had her way, she never would again. She had heard the usual Navy scuttlebutt about why his career was on the skids. She hadn't paid much attention to the rumors. He was assigned to pier security and she was in investigations and the two very rarely had anything in common.

The night before she had received a call from Commander Graham telling her report to his office at 0630 the next morning. The Commander had introduced her to Hoffman and told her they would be working together for a few weeks. Graham had given her a rundown about the missing weapons from the _Coos Bay_. Her previous experience as a cargo handler and loadmaster made her the perfect undercover operative. Beverly had been assigned to find the leak that allowed the weapons off the ship. Hoffman's job was to prevent the weapons from leaving the pier, a job that he had so far failed to do. _Rumor and scuttlebutt my fanny_ , she thought, _he's a lazy officer, the kind that always manages to screw over his crew to save his own ass._

She was collecting the hard copies of the files provided by Naval Logistics Command and Commander Nicholson from the printer. The files had dropped into her email half an hour earlier and she was annoyed because she hadn't had the time to look at the files, much less read what was in them, before she passed them on to Five-0. She was hoping there was something in the old shipping manifests that would point an arrow at their perpetrator. There had to be a connection buried in the files.

"Where you going, Williams?" Came a voice from the doorway. Beverly looked up to find Hoffman leaning casually against the door frame. He thought the pose made him look sexy and irresistible to women. Beverly thought it made him look like a vulture waiting for a cow to die. She felt her stomach doing flip flops as she fought to keep the nausea at bay.

"I have a lunch date with my husband and then I have a meeting with Pacita Mendoza at thirteen hundred. I've already cleared it with Commander Graham, but feel free to check. I should be back by fourteen thirty at the latest."

"You know, Williams, I've never met this husband of yours. I'm beginning to wonder if you just made one up as a cover." Hoffman was smirking. "Of course I could be wrong."

"A cover for what, Lieutenant?" Beverly asked, her senses had been on high alert since she found out she would be working closely with Hoffman. Now they were screaming at her as the hair on the back of her neck stood up. _Chicken skin_ , Kono would call it; but no matter what name it went by, it signaled something wasn't right.

"Don't pull that innocent act with me," Hoffman said. He was feeling both exhilarated and randy after a successful morning. "I can see right through it. You were just a little too chummy with McGarrett and that other cop from Five-O. Is that how you got the appointment to Quantico? By being 'chummy' with those old dudes? You need to explain that _ohana_ shit the governor was talking about. I don't like it when people use foreign words. This is America, not the Philippines." He wasn't above a little career threatening or outright intimidation when he had a target in sight and that little redhead from Bumfuqued, Alabama was a hottie in every sense of the word.

"Lieutenant, you've been here in the Islands for three years and you've never heard of _ohana_? Why am I not surprised? It means family. The family that you make, not the one you're born with. As far as Governor Jameson is concerned, I'm part of Five-O's _ohana_ because I worked for Commander McGarrett at Five-O at one time. That's all. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a lunch date with my husband."

She thought she was past him when he reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Come on, girlie," he whispered in her ear. "You know you want it. Nothing like a nooner to make time pass faster."

She somehow managed to get one hand free. She clawed at his face with a set of acrylic nails that had cost forty bucks. He let her go, shoving her against the wall in the the process. "No need to get all huffy about it," he said, smirking, relishing the look of pure hate on her face, making her freckles stand out as her skin paled in disgust.

"Stay away from me," she hissed. She turned and stalked out of the building, the heels of her pumps clicking rapidly across the linoleum floor. Hoffman watched her go, taking the opportunity to ogle her shapely rear. His cheek was stinging and he could feel the blood dripping down his face. Too bad he didn't leave a few bruises on her, if for no other reason than to smoke out the husband he knew she didn't have. He grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on her desk and blotted the blood from his face. He never could understand the deal with women and tissues, except they always had some stashed somewhere. He returned to his office at the end of the corridor, dropped the window shades and booted up his computer. He accessed the second, hidden drive, called up the file he wanted, and started reading. If command ever found out about the ghost drive, he'd be court marshaled. Only he had ceased caring about what command thought two months earlier when he was informed that because of his inability to achieve a higher rank than lieutenant his services would no longer be needed by the Navy. That meant speeding up his timeline. He had spent the morning tying up loose ends and would take care of the final one the next afternoon. He had no intention of leaving the Navy broke.

He'd had a brief bad moment at the Governor's office. Hoffman didn't like surprises and this one had been especially unpleasant. He'd used both Kini and Leo to help out with some of the heavy lifting involved with his retirement plans. _Ohana, my ass,_ he thought, _those damned Hawaiians stuck together like glue._ Well, Kini and Leo were both out of the picture, and if he found out their dimwitted cousin was involved, he'd be out too. He smiled, just thinking about it. He still owed the cousins for the last job they'd done for him. Too bad they'd never collect.

He frowned as he read Beverly Patterson-Williams's personnel file. She had nine years enlisted as a cargo handler, first on a surface ship and then as a loadmaster for Navy planes. She had aced every test she had ever taken, graduated first in any school she attended, and had made Petty Officer in record time. She had been assigned to Lt. Commander McGarrett as a yeoman, first in Guam and Singapore and then attached to the offices of Five-0 at Iolani Palace and had somehow managed to get a coveted slot at Quantico without applying or even asking and had then done the unexpected by graduating tied for first place with an Annapolis graduate. She had letters of recommendation from two admirals, three captains, the CO of SeaLift Command on Coronado, and Lt. Commander McGarrett himself. There was also a copy of a marriage certificate issued by the state of West Virginia to Beverly Patterson and Daniel Williams in August of 1996, with Williams giving an address in Honolulu and listing employment as a police officer with Hawaii State Police Unit Five-O. Now that was an interesting development. She really did have a husband and one who was a cop at that. If memory served him correctly, Daniel Williams was second in command at Five-O. No wonder she was so chummy with the state cops and with the Governor.

Just for giggles he looked up her home address and compared it to the one Williams had given on the marriage certificate. They were the same. He clicked on MapQuest and typed the address into the search bar. The address turned out to be a beach front condo that Hoffman could never hope to afford, and a coveted end unit at that. He'd bet his left nut that Williams had bought the place before the Honolulu real estate boom made it next to impossible for a junior officer to afford to live off post. That red headed bitch had a beach front condo. If Hoffman had a place like that he would have had hot and cold running pussy from a selection of beach bunnies. Instead he was stuck on post in the bachelor officers quarters and had to share a bathroom with a lieutenant jaygee from Florida, forcing him to limit himself to women who either had their own apartments or weren't adverse to sneaking into the BOQ. The Navy owed him big time for that bit of inconvenience. He closed out MapQuest and returned to perusing her file.

Her last evaluation contained a recommendation for early promotion to Lieutenant Junior Grade from none other than Commander Graham himself.

That's all he needed. A smart Navy cop who knew her way around a cargo deck. Damn Graham and that moron Donner and every other flag officer at Pearl. He'd busted his ass for the last fifteen years and had jack to show for it. Hell, Williams even had the Battle E on her Desert Storm ribbon while he had sat out the war in DC doing follow ups for security clearances. What had seemed a prudent move at the time had came back to bite him in the ass. He would have happily volunteered for duty in the Middle East if someone had told him that a damned Battle E was worth a shit load of promotion points.

He thought about the papers she was putting into her briefcase before she left. He hadn't bothered to ask her what they were and she was too stuck up to share the information with him. He would demand to know what was in the files when she got back. After all, he was the ranking officer in this investigation, even if he didn't work for the Five-fucking-O.

The only bright spot in this whole debacle was that more accidents happened while shifting cargo than for any other ship's activity. If she wasn't very, very careful, Ensign Williams was going to have an extremely brief career.

O-O-O-O-O

Beverly was still angry when she got to Iolani Palace, and it must have shown on her face because Jenny immediately asked her what was wrong.

Beverly found herself on the receiving end of a motherly hug, catching a whiff of the Shalimar perfume that Jenny always wore. McGarrett habitually gave perfume to his female employees on birthdays and at Christmas and Jenny had been wearing Shalimar the day she had interviewed for her job. She had been nervous, especially since she had only recently gone back to school to update her job skills after having been a stay at home mom for the previous eight years. McGarrett had read over her employment application file and had already decided that anyone who could balance a husband, three kids, and still make the Dean's list, could probably handle anything the job could throw at her. The scent of Shalimar, his sister's favorite perfume, gave the petite redhead the deciding vote. He welcomed her to the team. It was a decision he had never regretted.

"Jenny," Beverly said, "you have got to be one of the luckiest women on this Rock. You don't have to work with a bunch of arrogant pricks."

Jenny had heard stories from some of her co-workers at staff and union meetings. Stories about sexual harassment and in one case, an investigation that had led to the firing, arrest, and prosecution of a senior member of the governor's staff. None of the Five-0 detectives had ever been rude or obnoxious, even when they were tired from long hours and frustrated from lack of progress on a case. She couldn't imagine any of them acting as anything but gentlemen.

"Anything I should know about, hon?" she asked. She had liked Beverly from the start and she could see that the young sailor was a perfect fit with the rest of the crew. It was a happy bonus that she and Danny had eloped.

"Not really. Just your basic Navy nonsense that will eventually straighten itself out." _In another three_ _months, to be exact, when that creep Hoffman starts out processing_. "I've got copies of shipping manifests from the _Coos Bay_ going back the last five years. I haven't had a chance to even look at them yet, much less read them, and you know how Commander McGarrett gets when people aren't prepared."

"I wouldn't worry about that right now. This case took a turn for the worse this morning. The whole crew's in his office. Wait a second and I'll let them know you're here."

Jenny buzzed through on the intercom to let McGarrett know Beverly had arrived. To Beverly's pleasant surprise, Danny came out to greet her. He put his arms around her and gave her a light kiss. She had been sleeping when he finally made it home the night before. "How's my girl?" he asked.

"Much better," she said. "Are you going to be late again tonight?" She knew that when an important case hit, the Five-O detectives put in long hours until it was solved.

"Would you believe that Steve told me I had to be out of the office by seven tonight at the latest. I think he wants one of those _World's Greatest Boss_ coffee mugs for Christmas." He took her hand as he escorted her into Steve's office.

Chin Ho and Duke were already there. She gave Duke a brief hug and Chin a longer one. She had been a frequent visitor at the Kelly house from the time she had worked as McGarrett's yeoman until Lin's untimely death. The Kelly's had insisted she call them Aunt and Uncle in the old Chinese tradition and she had been devastated when Lin had passed away. When she put her arms around Chin, she inhaled the scent of his pipe tobacco and the aftershave that reminded her of oak and cedar.

"I've missed you, Uncle Chin," she said. "When this case is over, you and the kids have to come over for dinner." The entire Five-O team was doing their best to help Chin cope with life without his wife of twenty-six years.

"You got it," Chin said. "The kids like the Southern style cooking, especially Tilda."

"Then I'll fry up some chicken," she replied.

"As tempting as that sounds," McGarrett said, interrupting. "Did you get copies of the shipping manifests from the _Coos Bay_?"

"Yes, sir," she said, putting her briefcase on the map table and opening it. She took out five thick folders, each one with the year written on the front. "I have five years worth of shipping manifests for the _Coos Bay_ , both inbound and outbound, in case our thief found a way to hide the crates on the ship until the return trip. Doubtful, but I wanted to rule out the possibility. That's a lot of data to go through and unfortunately, I didn't get this until about an hour ago and I haven't had a time to look over the documents. However, I have forwarded copies to your email and to Mendoza in the computer lab."

"Two hours ago we didn't have the documents. You can't do everything at once." Steve said.

Beverly's cop senses were starting to tingle. The detectives were quieter than usual. "Looks like y'all are having the same kind of day I've had. Anything new I need to know about?"

Duke, as usual, seemed to be the only one of the team with his temper in check. The rest of the men seemed to be both angry and frustrated. "The hospital called about ten minutes ago, Mrs. Bunroeun, the elderly Cambodian lady shot during the robbery, died without regaining consciousness. According to the doctors she coded at 1114. She had a ' _Do Not Resuscitate_ ' order in her chart and the doctors didn't attempt to revive her."

"That's awful," Beverly said, shaking her head. "I hope she went peacefully. I suppose that leaves the kid Mr. Bunroeun shot as the only eyewitness?"

"Not anymore," McGarrett said. "Kini Kaimana was shot and killed at 1047 this morning. He was hit by what looks like three .45 caliber bullets at close range, most likely with a suppressed weapon, since no one heard any shots fired. We're waiting for the ballistics report from Che for confirmation on the weapon type. We were running the security tapes. Want to have a look?"

"Sure," she said. "Never hurts to have another set of eyes looking at the evidence. How did you get the time of death down the minute?"

McGarrett was queuing up the recording from the security camera located in the hallway outside Kini's room. Hospital privacy rules didn't allow cameras in the rooms and were instead pointed at the doorway. Anyone going in or out would be caught on tape. "We know Kini was hit at 1047 because every medical device he was hooked to registered the time his heart stopped. Che's narrowed it down to a ten minute time frame. See the one on the left wearing the beige scrubs? We think he's our shooter."

Not only was the man wearing scrubs, he was also wearing a surgical mask and his hair was tucked under a mop cap similar to the ones worn by surgeons. He looked to be around six feet tall, about 180 pounds and appeared to be in fairly decent shape. There was something oddly familiar about him that she just couldn't place. He went into the room, stayed less than half a minute, and then calmly strolled out, taking his time, while medical staff entered the room at a run. Beverly was convinced the man was smirking under the surgical mask.

"Can you back that up and run through it in slow motion?" she asked.

"Coming right up," Steve said. He restarted the recording.

"Beautiful," she said, "Now can you zoom in on the left forearm and freeze it?"

Steve gave Beverly a look of satisfaction. His instincts were still working properly. Beverly was going to make a damn good cop. He advanced the recording frame by frame until he found the one she wanted. He zoomed in on the frame. "Well, I'll be damned," he said.

A large gauze bandage covered the shooters left forearm, neatly covering his arm from wrist to elbow.

"Bet our boy's covering up a tattoo," Duke said, frowning. "Or a very noticeable scar. It's not a clear image but he appears to be wearing some sort of ring on his left hand. One with a blue stone."

"Danno, can you get us a clearer picture at more magnification?" Steve asked as he tossed the remote to Danny.

"I can try." he said. A few minutes later, he was ready to toss the DVD player out the window. He could get clarity or he could get magnification but not both. "Sorry, Steve, this is best I can do." He restarted to recording. Beverly watched the man in beige walk into Kini Kaimana's room and walk out less than a minute later. Something about the man looked too familiar for comfort.

"You've got an appointment with Mendoza at one. I'll burn you a copy to take to her. That girl can do magic with those machines."

"That I can do," Beverly said. "Any success running down the fingerprint you found on the rifle?"

She finally got a smile out of the crew. "Che and Mendoza came through for us on that one," Steve said. "The print belongs to one Private First Class Sylvester Hadley of the 55th Supply and Service Battalion at Schofield Barracks. Danno's got an arrest warrant with Hadley's name on it in his jacket pocket."

"The 55th S&S is a National Guard unit. Hadley attends just enough meetings to keep from getting booted out of the service and he works mid shift at the Navy Pier," Danny said. "We're going to be waiting for him when he gets to work this afternoon. We don't want to take him at his house if we can avoid it, just in case he's got another battle rifle hidden under his bed."

McGarrett looked at his watch. "Danno, if you are still planning on taking your wife out for lunch, you'd better get moving."

Danny took Beverly's hand, "Best suggestion I've had today. Come on, baby, I'm starving!"

Beverly walked out into the warm Hawaiian afternoon, holding her husband's hand as they went down the steps. "You're being unusually quiet." Danny observed. "Anything you want to tell me about?"

"Only that I have to work with Lt Hoffman on this one and I can't stand the man! He gives me the creeps!"

"He hasn't tried anything... unprofessional, has he?"

"No," she said, knowing it wasn't the truth but not wanting to disrupt the mission with personal problems. Those she would deal with when this was over. "He's just creepy. And you're right about the unprofessional. He's lazy. He was suppose to be in charge of security on the pier. If he'd been doing his job we wouldn't have lost enough guns to re-fight the War of Northern Aggression with plenty left over for skirmishes and police actions! I just don't trust him, is all."

Danny held the door of the black SUV that had replaced the sedans Five-O had used for years. "Sounds like you don't want to work with Hoffman."

"Danny, no one wants to work with Hoffman because they end up doing their job and his too because he's so lazy he wouldn't hit a lick at a snake. And he thinks he's god's gift to Navy women. As if! His enlistment is up in about four months which means we'll only have to put up with him for the next three, as we're all sure he's going to take his own sweet time out processing," she said, smiling at the thought of having a Hoffman-free existence.

"Knew I'd get a smile out of you," Danny said as he backed out of the parking space and pulled into traffic. "How does Chinese sound?"

"Delicious!" she said, still smiling.

"Chinese it is then." He looked over at his wife. He could tell something was bothering her. He made a mental note to have a look at Hoffman's records as soon as he got a chance.


	9. Chapter 9

O-O-O-O-O

Chapter 9

McGarrett paced the confines of his office, waiting for Che to call with the ballistic report from the slugs Doc had dug out of Kini Kaimana, while going over the statement made by Kini's father as HPD searched Kaimana home for evidence.

McGarrett had met Duke at the Kaimana residence shortly after the shooting. Mrs. Kaimana, already unhappy with HPD pawing through her house had gone hysterical when she learned Kini been shot and killed in his hospital bed. Her husband had tried without success to comfort her. She had finally been taken to the house next door, where all the women of the neighborhood seemed to have congregated. The search had turned up little more than a couple of joints and a porn stash hidden under Kini's mattress and forty-three dollars and a box of condoms stashed in a pair of Corcoran jump boots in his closet. The jump boots were the real deal, not a cheap pair of made in China knock-offs, expensive, and usually only available on post. Duke had already bagged the boots as further evidence of a military connection to the crimes.

Mr. Kaimana was a full blood Hawaiian. He was a brick mason, and a very good one, and as a result was able to name his own price for any job he was offered, enabling him to provide his familiy with a comfortable home in a decent neighborhood. He approached Steve hesitantly. "Mr. McGarrett," he said, taking a deep breath and wondering if he was doing the right thing. "My wife is next door, so she ain't gone hear this. What I got to say ain't good, especially when it's your own kid. You got kids, Mr. McGarrett?"

"I have a son, Mr. Kaimana. He's in the Navy, assigned to the Pentagon. I can only imagine what you and your family will be going through over the next few days, but if you know anything that may lead to finding the killer, you need to let us know now. The longer you withhold information, the longer the killer has to escape."

"He was our youngest. My wife and his sisters spoiled him because he was the only boy. I never had a minutes trouble with his sisters, not a one. Then he comes along when my youngest daughter was ten. I thought we were done raising kids. Not that it mattered none." He paused for a minute, looking off into the distance. "My wife made excuses for him when he started getting into trouble. It was as much my fault for letting her as it was hers for doing it. Him and Leo was first cousins. His dad is my wife's youngest brother. Those boys grew up more like brothers than cousins. Only Leo's parents are about worthless. Lazy, didn't work but about half the time. My wife and I, we always worked. We wanted out kids to have better than we did. We both worked and saved to give them a nice house in a good neighborhood and for getting them decent educations. Then Leo starts getting into trouble and usually Kini is right in there with him. They dropped out of school, wouldn't work, just hung around watching TV or were out running the streets. Then they got involved with Doc Hadley and I knew something bad was going to happen and there wasn't a damned thing I could do to stop it."

McGarrett and Duke had exchanged glances at the news that Kini knew Hadley, connecting all three of the suspects. "How did Kini know Doc Hadley?" McGarrett asked.

"His real names Sylvester. The only people who call him 'Doc' are his punk buddies. He's another cousin. From the _haole_ side of my family. Had an auntie marry one of the missionaries way back when. He's got just enough Polynesian blood to qualify and he used whichever side of his heritage gave him the biggest advantage. If you wanted _haole_ , he was _haole_. Want Polynesian? He's your man. He would lie when the truth would save him. If you want Hadley, try the Navy Pier. He's been working there about three years now. Probably makes good money. Too bad he blows it as soon as he gets it. He gets paid on Friday and by Monday he's broke again."

"Any involvement with narcotics? That could be where his money was going," Duke said.

"Nothing major, if that's what you're getting at, although I know for a fact that he gave weed to both Kini and Leo, probably had them convinced he was one of the biggest dealers on the Island. That weed you found in my boy's room more than likely came from Doc. I told both those boys to stay away from him months ago. He hasn't been allowed in my house since the middle of last year. You don't invite trouble into your house,and when it shows up, you can't let it stay. I don't understand it. He makes good money and he just throws his money around trying to impress people while he's lying to them. Hear him tell it, he won the Gulf War all by himself. Claimed he was a some sort of hot shot sniper. He was still in high school in '91. The closest he ever got to the Gulf War was watching it on CNN."

McGarrett gave Mr. Kaimana's shoulder a friendly squeeze. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Kaimana. If you could, could you come down to Five-0's offices and make a formal statement, please. You can wait until tomorrow to come in. This afternoon, I think you need to be with you family."

Mr. Kaimana nodded solemnly and went next door to check on his wife.

O-O-O-O-O

McGarrett went back to the chalkboard. _If I was a computer geek_ , he thought, _this would be a flow_ _chart in a PowerPoint presentation, only this makes it a lot easier to move things around_. He erased one side of the chalkboard and wrote down Kini and Leo's names, followed by the letter 'd' in parenthesis to indicate they were now deceased. Next he wrote Hadley's name and listed everything tying him to the robbery/homicide; the nickname 'Doc', Hadley's tendency to exaggerate, the thumbprint on the weapon, and the fact that he worked on the Navy Pier, his 'spray and pray' firing style.

Hadley was starting to look good for the four murders at the convince store, including the two HPD officers.

The only thing troubling McGarrett was that he doubted the three of them together had a dozen working brain cells. Nowhere was there any indication the cousins had the smarts or the imagination needed to run a sophisticated theft ring involving military hardware.

He wrote unknown man wearing surgical mask and scrubs with a bandage on left forearm, possibly covering a noticeable scar or tattoo.

The unknown man in scrubs only proved that Hadley didn't kill Kini. The description on Hadley's military ID and Hawaiian driver's license said he was only five foot seven and a hundred and fifty three pounds. Scrubs man was at least six feet tall, broad shouldered, and appeared to be in decent physical shape. Could the man in the scrubs be the real ringleader? And if he was, would he have known about the robbery before it took place? Maybe all three of the cousins were taking orders from him and he had decided that a dead Kini would safer than one ready to cut a deal with the authorities to avoid spending the rest of his life in jail for three counts of first degree murder.

The two people McGarrett could have been used as eyewitnesses were both dead at Queens hospital, one shot in his hospital room, probably with a suppressed weapon, the other from complications from being shot in the chest with a high powered rifle. Kini had been shot at 1047 and Mrs. Bunroeun had died at 1114. He wondered how long it would take to get from Kini's room to Mrs. Bunroeun's. Both were in intensive care units, but Mrs. Bunroeun was in another part of the hospital, in the section reserved for cardiac and pulmonary trauma.

He had stepped back from the chalkboard, frowning, when Jenny buzzed in with a call from Che.

"Put him though," he said.

"Steve," Che said after he came on the line. "I've narrowed the weapon used to shoot Kini down to a Model 1911 Navy Colt .45 caliber. The shooter used a handgun that was in all probability military issue."

"How can you tell it's military issue without having the weapon?"

"By the pattern of lans and grooves left by the gun barrel. The ones for the military have a left hand twist, the ones sold as a civilian weapons have a right hand twist. Plus Chin found three shell casings in the room. The brass has a number stamped into the bottom identifying it as military ammo."

"You think our shooter is military?"

"If he isn't, he's managed to get his hands on a military issue weapon and some surplus ammunition. Were there any Navy Colt's on the list of missing ordnance?"

That was the one question McGarrett had an answer for. So far, no handguns were listed as lost or stolen. "Thanks, Che. I need you to pull the security tapes for Pulmonary ICU. Find out what's on the camera closest to Mrs. Bunroeun's room. "

"That won't be a problem," Che said. "The hospital is being very cooperative. What do I need to look for?"

"Anyone going into her room wearing scrubs and a surgical mask between 1047 and when she passed away at 11:14. Look for a man wearing beige scrubs and surgical mask. Call me when you find him." He hung up the phone, and hit the play button on the DVD player. He watched again as the suspect walked into Kini's room, where he allegedly fired three silenced shots into the kid's chest, and calmly walked out of the room. Pulmonary ICU was one floor up. There were twenty-seven minutes between the time Kini was shot and Mrs Bunroeun passed away. He had a timeline that fit the crime. That is, if a crime had been committed. There was only one way to find out.

"Do you have any concept of the term 'lunch hour'?" Doc groused as he answered the phone.

"Are you doing the autopsy on Mrs. Bunroeun?"

"We're not doing an autopsy. She died from complications caused by a gunshot to the chest, complicated by the fact that she was eighty-five years old and in poor health to start with. She was in a medical facility under a physicians care when she died. Che already had the bullet we took out of her. There's no need for an autopsy."

"There is now," Steve said. "Did you see the body?"

"Yes," Doc said, curiosity getting the better of him. "You got a theory?"

"Any bruising or discoloration around her mouth or nose or her fingernails?"

"Her lips were blue, but that's a sign of pulmonary distress, like the kind you'd get after being shot in the chest by an M16."

"Or if she'd been suffocated. Doc, I want an autopsy done ASAP. When you do it, check her nose and throat for cotton residue, or whatever in the hell it is hospital pillows are made with these days."

"You think she was murdered?" Doc asked.

"Let's just call it a hunch for now."

"Why is it that every time you get a hunch I end up working overtime," Bergman complained as he hung up the phone.

O-O-O-O-O

Chin's phone rang just as he was returning to his office after lunch. "Kelly here," he answered.

"This is Sgt Briggs from 55th S&S. You the same Kelly who was here this morning?"

"Same Kelly. You get me anything new on Hadley?"

"I got news, and it ain't good," came the gruff voice of the career soldier. "I've got an El Tee who wants Hadley court martialed and a staff sergeant who wants to beat the ever lovin' hell out of him. We did the inventory. None of the weapons were missing, thank God. That's the good news. The bad news is five thousand rounds of NATO approved steel jacketed 7.62 ammo are missing along with a dozen thirty round magazines."

"You sure?" Chin asked, grimacing. Five thousand rounds of ammo was enough to start a small war.

"We found the boxes the ammo came in broken down and cleverly hidden inside a locker under a tee shirt with Hadley's name and service number stenciled on the back. Do I have proof that Hadley did it? No. Do I think he took the ammo? Hell, yes. He's that damned stupid. The ammo was signed for and checked in by Lt Edwards two weeks ago. He also signed off on the inventory sheet that it was in the arms room at last weekend's drill. Edwards says he made the mistake of leaving Hadley alone for a couple of hours that afternoon. Dollar's to doughnuts, he took it. Edwards is at the post commanders office and if he has his way every MP on this rock is going to be looking for Hadley."

"Thanks, sergeant. You have been very helpful."

"Not as helpful as Five-O. I've been looking for an excuse to get rid of that little shit for the last two years. You just handed me a reason. Good luck finding the boy." Briggs hung up, sounding more chipper than Chin was feeling. Now the missing guns had ammo. Things were starting to get serious.

O-O-O-O-O

Danny had kissed his wife good-by at the stairs leading down to the computer lab in the basement and made his way upstairs. He went back to his office to co-ordinate with Commander Graham and HPD for the arrest of Doc Hadley. Graham had promised back up from Shore Patrol and would have Hoffman's team from Pier Security standing by. After he got off the phone with Graham, he called Chief Dann, asking for, and getting six officers to cover the civilian side of the gate.

He was checking that his snub nose .357 was oiled and loaded when Jenny stuck her head in the door and said the Big Man wanted everyone in his office, and he meant ten minutes ago.

Danny was surprised to see Che. A grim looking Chin Ho came in as McGarrett was queuing up the DVD player on his desk, running it in rerun mode.

"What's up?" Danny asked.

"What's up is our buddy Doc Hadley. Sgt Briggs just called. Their arms room is missing five thousand rounds of M16 ammo and a dozen thirty round magazines. He's positive Hadley took them."

"That's all we need," Duke said. "Ammo for a load of automatic weapons in the hands of a kid I wouldn't trust with a pea shooter."

"Which means we have to keep the ammo from getting to the weapons. Gentleman," McGarrett interrupted."I think we may have found our ringleader."

He pressed play and a man in beige scrubs and a surgical mask strolled nonchalantly down the hallway and into Mrs. Bunroeun's room. Nine minutes later he left the room as nonchalantly as he had entered.

"He was in there nine minutes," Steve said. "That's about all the time he would have needed to suffocate a frail elderly woman who was in bad shape to begin with. She also had a "do not resuscitate" order on file and when the alarms started going off, the staff took their time responding."

"Did you get a clear shot of the ring he was wearing?" Duke asked.

"No, but Beverly has Pacita Mendoza working on that even as we speak," Danny said.

"I'm waiting on Doc Bergman to call back with Mrs. Bunroeun's autopsy report for confirmation," Steve said, "but it looks like our man in the beige scrubs killed both our potential witnesses. The big question is why would he do it?"

"Because maybe they could link him to the stolen weapons," Duke suggested.

"Yes, but how did he know Kini was part of the botched robbery? The cousins names didn't appear in any of the news reports because they were under eighteen. The only way their names would be released was if a judge ruled they were to be tried as adults."

"That means we've got a leak," Danny said. "Who else knew about Kini?"

"Not anyone from Five-O," Duke said. "And not Beverly or Colonel Yablanski."

"How about NCIS Honolulu?" Chin asked. "A leak from Commander Graham's office?"

"Or maybe from pier security," Danny said, the concern in his voice very evident. "Maybe we need to check into Lt Hoffman's personnel file. Beverly said he's been barred from re-enlistment and only has about four months left in the Navy. She says he's a lazy officer and he gives her the creeps."

"Something about Hoffman didn't seem right," Duke said.

"Throwed off?" Danny suggested. He had heard the phrase from both Beverly and Maggie and it seemed to fit.

"Yeah," Duke said, "That's it. There's something about Hoffman that isn't right and it's been bothering the hell out of me because I can't figure out what it is."

McGarrett looked at his watch. "It's 1345. Chin, head down to the computer lab. Get Mendoza to do her magic and get me a copy of everything the Navy has on Lt Jackson Hoffman. You can get into his service record without a warrant, which is a good thing, because we don't have a whole lot of probable cause at this time. I'll meet up with Colonel Yablanski and Beverly at Commander Graham's office. Danno, you and Duke head down to the pier. I want Hadley in a cell before he ends up in the morgue with his cousins."

O-O-O-O-O

Susan was getting ready to put Michael down for his afternoon nap when the doorbell rang. She frowned a bit as she finished filling the baby's bottle. If it was Meyers renewing his efforts to hire her, she was going to smash the bottle over his head. The man had a bad habit of calling just as she was getting the baby down for his nap. She could hear Michael fussing in the crib, wondering where his afternoon snack was and getting crankier by the minute. He was ready for his regularly scheduled mommy-time.

The chubby toddler reached his arms around her neck as she lifted him from the crib. Susan sometimes wondered who was getting more from this homey afternoon ritual, her or the baby. "Ready for rockies and your nap? You've got coconut and banana in your bottle and your favorite Dr. Seuss for your story." She was carrying the baby into the living room where the rocker and his book waited when the doorbell rang a second tme. She hurried to answer the door before it rang again. She was seriously considering asking Duke to disconnect the annoying thing.

"Hello, Lu," Andreaus Yablanski said when she opened the door.

Susan stood there a minute, mildly shocked at her ex-husbands presence. "What are you doing here?" she finally managed to get out. "Is Sophie okay?"

"She's fine," Yablanski said, smiling at Susan. "I am in Honolulu for a little while and thought I'd drop by and see how you are doing."

Micheal was getting fussy. It was either invite Andy in or disrupt the baby's routine. "I was just getting ready to put Michael down for his nap. You may as well come in."

Susan ushered him into the living room with it's wide windows and parquet flooring. The house was done in an eclectic mix of Hawaiian and European furniture. He recognized some of the pieces, including the rocking chair. He had bought her the rocker as an anniversary present, two months before Sophie was born. He took a seat on the bamboo sofa covered with Hawaiian print pillows.

"Can I get you a drink?" she asked. "I have soda and iced tea."

"Iced tea would be nice, if it's no trouble."

"Not a bit. Here," She passed him the baby and the bottle. "I'll only be a minute. Don't worry, he doesn't bite."

Yablanski held the baby, who regarded him with eyes the color of dark chocolate. With the exception of having a headfull of soft blonde curls, the little boy was a copy of his father. _He should have been ours_ , he thought, _only I screwed that one up so bad_. "You must be Michael," he said as the baby chewed his plump little fist. "Your sister has told me all about you. You are one very lucky young man. You have a lot of people who love you."

Susan came in carrying a tray with a glass of iced tea with a lemon wedge on the rim and a plate of macaroons. She put the tray down on the coffee table and reclaimed her son. She sat in the rocker, adjusting the baby in her lap into a more comfortable position with his head resting on her breast as she held his bottle.

"You are not breast feeding?" Yablanski asked, taken aback at the sight of Susan bottle feeding the baby. He could still remember her sitting in that very chair in the long evening twilight of the European summer, reading to a six month old Sophie as she nursed the little girl.

"No," she said, with just a hint of sadness in her voice. "Not after the cancer. There's scar tissue and compromised mild ducts in both breasts. My OB said there shouldn't be any problems but advised against it because she thought it would be too painful. And I kept having visions of my baby ingesting cancer cells through the breast milk even though I have been cancer free for seven years now. He gets a bottle, but Duke's mom gave me a recipe for a banana and coconut milk formula that he gets for his afternoon nap."

"I see you kept the rocker."

"Couldn't think of a reason to get rid of it. One of these days Sophie is going to make us grandparents, and when she does, the rocker goes to her. My family didn't have many traditions and yours left most of theirs in Yugoslavia when they immigrated. Maybe it's time to start some new ones." Duke's family had been in the Islands since the first Polynesian's had arrived and had the heirlooms and traditions to go along with it. Her family's 'traditions' had included the annual Christmas brawl between drunken uncles and cousins, and the never to be forgotten "4th of July Let's Bail Dad Out Of Jail Extravaganza." It was a refreshing change to go to a family reunion without having to choose sides.

Andreaus could understand the point Susan was trying to make. He had always felt as if he were drifting along without an anchor until he met Susan. His family had landed in America when he was four; the address of the refugee center in New York and their only possessions carried in two small suitcases and a backpack.

"I am finding it hard to believe that our daughter is getting married and going to law school. Her young man is very encouraging. And he is exceptionally well mannered for a Navy officer."

Susan stifled a giggle. "That's Maggie's step-son you're talking about. That boy is so much like his dad its kind of scary. You do know Cooper went to Annapolis."

"As I recall. We watched this year's Army/Navy game at my house. The referees were obviously favoring the Navy. That last touchdown should have been disavowed."

"Why are you here, Andy?" Susan asked, suddenly very serious. "Not why you're here in the Islands. Duke called me earlier to let me know you were in town, only I wasn't expecting to find you on the lanai. I know this isn't about Sophie and Cooper getting married. That's at least another year down the line. So, tell me, why are you here?"

"You always did ask the tough questions," he said taking a drink of tea. Sweet tea with lemon. Iced tea the way he liked it. She had remembered. "If I tell you, you will think I am just being foolish."

"No, Andy, I won't. Promise."

"I suppose it's because I wanted to see for myself that you are as happy as Sophie said you were. She told me that your husband is a good man and that his kids adopted her overnight. She had an Hawaiian word for it. _Ohana,_ she called it, the family that you make. She said you had made a very good one here in the Islands and how she was blessed to have two dads and two families because most people only get one and she was lucky enough to have two. I have met her step-sister. Lillie is welcome at my house anytime. And, to be honest, I wanted to meet the man who managed to get First Sergeant Susan Louise Jones-Yablanski to retire from the Army two years early."

Susan gave him a slight smile as she adjusted the baby on her lap into a more comfortable position. Micheal was finding the conversation fascinating but he was warm and dry, his tummy was full, and he was nestled comfortably on his mother's soft and generous bosom, and he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. "Duke is everything I ever needed or wanted without really knowing what it was. He's quiet and thoughtful and as steady as a rock, one that will always be there when I need him."

"Does he love you?"

Susan gave her ex-husband an odd look, still wondering what point he was trying to make. "Yes, he does. And I love him, and his kids, because they have always treated me the same way they would have treated their real mother. But you're wrong about why I retired early. I didn't retire because of Duke, but because of this little guy here on my lap. I had wanted to ETS when I got pregnant with Sophie, only something in the back of my mind told me I needed to keep the job I had. I never intended to stay in as long as I did, only where else was a female camera jock going to find a civilian job with anywhere near the pay and benefits the Army had? Let's face it, Andy, our marriage was doomed from the start. You were a much better Dad then you ever were a husband."

"For that, I am sorry," he said. "I made a mistake. A stupid, irresponsible, and unforgivable mistake and I hope that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me."

For the first time in years, Susan took a good long look at Andreaus, this time looking at him as if he were a human being and not her ex-husband. She had quit being angry with him years ago, when she found it was impossible to stay angry at a man who obviously loved his daughter. He had never been late with a child support payment, never missed a visitation day unless he was deployed and even then he called Sophie every chance he got. Susan had once told Maggie she could track Andy's movements through the presents he brought Sophie from abroad.

"I forgave you for that years ago."

"Thank you," he said, sighing. "One of these days I may even forgive myself."

"Whatever happened to that silly butter bar? I tried really hard not to gloat when she divorced you. Well, maybe not that hard."

"Lady Karma came back to bite me over that one. She left me for a man ten years younger than she is and as unreliable as a glass hammer. She left the Army after the Gulf War and I haven't heard from her since."

"I'm sorry that happened. I know that had to have been painful. Be patient, you'll find the right one."

He could feel his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. The phone number on the caller ID showed the call was from Five-O. It was McGarrett, telling him they were getting ready to bring in a suspect for questioning about stolen automatic weapons. He told McGarrett he would him at the Commander Graham's office in forty-five minutes. He ended the call and stood up, crossing the room to where Susan was rocking her sleeping baby. "I already did," he said, bending to kiss Susan on the top of her head. "Only I was too stupid to know it until it was too late. I'll let myself out."

Susan watched as he left to stunned to say good-bye.


	10. Chapter 10

O-O-O-O-O

Chapter 10

Steve, Duke, and Beverly were waiting in Commander Graham's office when Yablanski arrived. He had been caught in Honolulu traffic and was running fifteen minutes behind schedule.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he apologized. "I had no idea Honolulu had traffic jams."

"One of the drawbacks about living on a island. No place to put extra traffic," Commander Graham said. "I guess we're ready when you are. Mr. McGarrett, I understand you may have a suspect?"

"If not a suspect then someone we need to talk to as soon as possible," McGarrett said, frowning. "Where's Lt. Hoffman?"

"He called earlier to say he was running down a lead and briefing his security team on the possibility more weapons may be offloaded from the _Coos Bay_ when she docks this afternoon," Graham said. "Said he'd be here by three."

"He's in charge of pier security. He should be here," McGarrett said, testily.

"Ensign Williams can brief him when he gets back," Graham said.

"Very well," McGarrett said. "We have an arrest warrant for a civilian employee, Sylvester Martin Hadley. He's a truck driver with the teamsters, and a member of the Army National Guard, when he bothers to show up for meetings. He did this weekend, and when he left, apparently five thousand rounds of 7.62 ammo and a dozen thirty round magazines left with him. Che Fong, our forensics expert, found Hadley's thumbprint on the rifle used in yesterday's shooting. He was also related to the two deceased subjects from that same robbery. All three of them were cousins. Hadley works mid shift and should be reporting for work soon. I will have two officers as well as units from HPD on stand by outside the gate when he shows up."

Beverly was up next. "I alerted Shore Patrol. They will be standing by on the Navy side of the fence. We're hoping Hadley can be taken into custody quietly. Does your computer have a CD player, sir?" She took out a CD case and passed it to the Commander.

"What's this all about?" Commander Graham asked.

"We think we have found the alleged mastermind behind the weapons thefts," McGarrett replied.

"CCTV footage from Queens hospital," Duke said. "This morning we had two potential witnesses die within minutes of each other. One of them from gunshots. We're still waiting for the autopsy report on the second witness." Commander Graham was running the CD, watching with interest as the tall man in the beige scrubs calmly entered and exited both rooms leaving alarms ringing in his wake.

"We think the man in this video knew Hadley and the two suspects were related. We don't know how he found out, as their names haven't been released to the press because they were both juveniles. Only Five-O and the people at this mornings meeting with the governor knew their names. The video is going to slow down toward the end," Beverly said. "There's a close up of the suspect's left arm. As you can see, there's a bandage covering most of the forearm. We're speculating its there to cover a noticeable scar or a tattoo."

"Are you sure your suspect isn't another cousin?" Graham asked. "I know how tight some of these Hawaiian families are. You can't throw a rock without hitting someone's cousin. No offense meant, Sergeant Lukela. I'm not saying it's a bad thing, just that it seems like every Hawaiian is related to everyone else."

"None taken, sir," Duke said with a shrug. "Can't be helped, it's a small island."

"The interesting part is at the end of the recording," McGarrett said, as the CD paused. "Five-O has a computer tech who can do miracles with those machines. As you can see, our alleged shooter is wearing what appears to be an Annapolis class ring from 1987. Know anyone who owns one?"

"Only every member of the Annapolis class of '87." Graham said,not even bothering to hide the disgust in his voice. "I can tell from just looking at it that one's a knock off from the Philippines the same way I can tell the one you're wearing is authentic. You can buy a fake one on any street around Olongapo for about six bucks. The only people it manages to fool are gullible females and very young sailors who don't know any better."

Colonel Yablanski had been listening thoughtfully to the briefing. Time to fill everyone in on the information he'd received from his informant that morning.

"Do you have a description of this Hadley?" he asked.

"Description and photo," Duke said. "He's five-seven, about a hundred and fifty pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, goes by the nickname 'Doc'. That ring any bells for you?"

"Too many, Sergeant Lukela," Yablanski said. "Earlier this afternoon I received a call from one of my deep cover operatives here in Hawaii. His job was to make contact with a man who claimed to have mass quantities of military hardware available. Early this morning he made contact. In exchange for a briefcase full of marked money he received two M16A4 rifles, a pair of laser sights, and two thirty round magazines. The contact matches you description of Hadley, and goes by the name 'Doc'."

"Wait one minute," McGarrett said, frowning. "This morning you told me Army CID didn't have an ongoing instigation in Hawaii. Now you're telling me there is one. It can't be both."

"Until yesterday's shooting, there wasn't," Yablanski said calmly. "As far as CID was concerned, we were looking for the older versions of the M16, not the latest and greatest, and none of them stolen here in Hawaii. If you will bear with me for a moment, I will explain. A disturbing amount of stolen military hardware has been finding its way into the hands of militia and survivalists groups, not just here, but all over the country. The only way we have been able to infiltrate any of these groups is with deep cover operatives, similar to the compromised investigation we aborted last year. We have an operative planted in a group known as Lucifer's Legion. Over the last year and a half, the Legion has been supplying stolen weapons to dozens of militia groups. Until two months ago, all of their activities were on the mainland. My operative informed me that he and several of their key players were here in the Islands because of a rumor that a large shipment of weapons could be had for bargain basement prices. We saw no reason to inform Hawaiian law enforcement until that rumor was confirmed. The Legion is expecting to take possession of a large shipment of weapons tomorrow as soon as they receive a phone call letting them know when and where."

McGarrett appraised Yablanski with one raised eyebrow. "When were you planning on letting Five-O and the rest of Hawaiian law enforcement in on your little operation? The last time CID was running an op in Honolulu a psycho with a truck bomb came damn close to blowing up Iolani Palace. What's next? The Bishop Museum?"

"Settle down, Commander McGarrett," Graham said, using McGarrett's former rank in an effort to calm things down. "What's the plan? This Hadley goes on shift in about twenty minutes. What do we do? Grab him at the gate or wait until he clocks in."

"We get him at the gate," McGarrett said. "We pick him up before he ends up in the morgue with his cousins. Then we sweat him until he decides to cooperate. Right now he's looking at three counts of murder one. I suspect he'd sell his own mother out for a lighter sentence."

"That is all well and good, Mr. McGarrett," Yablanski said. "But I need to know who is behind the weapons thefts. My operative wasn't impressed by Hadley's intellect. I believe the phrase he used was 'dumber than a box of dead rocks'. It is imperative that we find the person orchestrating the weapons thefts."

"I'm with you on that one, Colonel," Commander Graham said. "It doesn't look good that the theft was taking place right under the Navy's nose. Hadley's National Guard. If we take him on Navy property, we can hold him under the UCMJ without bond until we can get some answers. To paraphrase my favorite starship captain, gentleman, make it so."

O-O-O-O-O

Beverly was waiting in the guard shack, a 1911 Navy Colt holstered at her side. Two members of the Shore Patrol stood by, with six more in position at strategic locations. Steve, Commander Graham, and Colonel Yablanski were in Steve's SUV, parked out of sight in an alley between two buildings in the next block. Danny and Duke were on the civilian side of the fence, along with three units from HPD that were circling the area around the main gate. Chin had called called in earlier with a description of Hadley's vehicle, an older white Ford Ranger with a camper shell on the back.

"Compton calling Williams, I just spotted Hadley. He's about two minutes out. Give everyone a heads up."

"Roger, Sgt Compton. Everyone hear that? Hadley's about two minutes out. Beverly, you copy."

"Roger that, Officer Williams," came the soft southern accented reply. "Please use proper radio procedure. Standing by. You copy, Commander?"

"Affirmative, Ensign Williams," Commander Graham replied, choking back a laugh. McGarrett shook his head, hoping Danno's concern for Beverly's safety wouldn't impede his judgment.

Beverly's voice came back over the radio. "And here he is now. Sending out the SP's."

The two SP's greeted Hadley, asked for his pass, and asked him to step out of the vehicle for a routine inspection. Hadley complied. He was all too familiar with these impromptu inspections and knew the only thing the SP's were going to do was check the back of his truck to see if he was trying to sneak anyone on post and have a look at the undercarriage with a mirror on a pole. This time they hadn't even bothered bringing the dogs out.

Beverly came around the front of the truck. "Sylvester Martin Hadley, you are under arrest, place your hands on the hood, please, feet back, and apart. Petty Officer Emerson, search him for weapons, please."

"What's this all about?" Hadley asked, starting to panic.

"That will be explained at the NCIS office. Cuff him, please." She pressed the mic button on her radio. "Officer Williams, we have Hadley in custody. Would you care to read him his rights?"

"On my way," Danny said, smiling at the thought of his wife in her tailored white Navy uniform. He parked the black SUV behind Hadley's truck and was opening the door to get out when the sniper opened fire. The shooter kept firing, hitting Hadley in the back with at least three rounds and felling Emerson with a head shot. He kept firing until his weapon was empty, stitching a line of bullet holes across Hadley's truck and taking out the front tire and back window of Danny's SUV.

"Shots fired!" Beverly screamed into the radio. "Shots fired at the main gate. All units, all units respond, active shooter at the main gate!" She had hit the ground at the first sound of gunfire. Hadley was lying next to her, in a puddle of blood, and the SP was sprawled next to him. Danny and Duke were pinned down in their SUV, unable to get a clear line of sight to return fire.

"What now?" Commander Graham asked McGarrett. They had heard the shots and were scanning the area, looking for the shooter. All Graham had was his .45 caliber service weapon and Yablanski was unarmed. From the sound of it the shooter had a high powered semi auto that he was willing to bet good money was an M16.

"What's your preference, shotgun or rifle?" Steve asked Yablanski.

"Rifle, if it makes any difference," Yablanski said.

Steve went around to the back and opened the hidden compartment in the cargo area of the SUV. He hadn't counted the shots but he had a feeling the only reason the shooter wasn't firing was he had stopped to reload and he wanted everyone armed and ready before he started shooting again. He pulled out an M16A3 with a laser sight and tossed it to Yablanski, along with three twenty round magazines. He grabbed the Ithaca Model 37 .12 gauge for himself and filled the pockets of his suit jacket with spare shells.

"Damn, man," Graham observed. "You're loaded for bear."

"Don't know about you, but I'm planning on living long enough to retire. Let's go."

They leapfrogged down the street under whatever cover they could find until they made the guard shack. Surprisingly enough there was no more gunfire after the first volley, only they weren't taking any chances.

Steve ran across the street to where Beverly was crouched behind Hadley's truck. There was blood on her uniform. "You hit?," he asked.

"I think it's Hadley's," she said. She was using the truck for cover and to steady her weapon as she scanned the buildings, looking for a muzzle flash or the sun glinting off a sniper scope or gun barrel. "I think our shooter's gone."

"Yeah, if he had stopped to reload he'd still be firing," McGarrett said. "Or he took out his target and decided to get the hell out of Dodge." He went to where Graham was checking Hadley and the wounded SP. Graham shook his head.

"They're both dead," Graham said.

"Shit," McGarrett said, kicking Hadley's front tire. He was helping Beverly to her feet when Danny ran up.

"You okay, baby?" he asked, gathering her in his arms.

"I'm fine. It's not my blood."

"Shooter's long gone," said Graham. "McGarrett, you've got one of the best forensic labs in the country. I'd appreciate your help on this one."

"You got it. Danno, call Che Fong. Have him roll out the lab crew, then secure the crime scene. Duke, coordinate with HPD and the SP's. I want everything leaving this base searched, both vehicle and pedestrian traffic. Then get people on those rooftops. Look for brass, shell casings,cigarette butts, gum wrappers, anything that points to a sniper's nest."

Commander Graham was on the radio, ordering a total shutdown of the base. Naval personnel were ordered to general quarters and all civilian activities were cancelled until further notice.

McGarrett was looking at the two bodies. Both were young, only while one was serving his country, the other was a suspect in the murder of two police officers and a pair of elderly Cambodian refugees. He shook his head as if to clear it. He didn't have time to ponder the vagrancies of fate.

Yablanski was surveying the scene, pointing out to Duke the direction he thought the gunfire had originated. He was pointing to the left, towards the section of the base that housed the Bachelor Officers Quarters and the junior enlisted barracks, including a newer seven story building that would be a prime sniper territory. Duke nodded in agreement and sent a contingent of Shore Patrol to check out the rooftops, each one accompanied by an HPD officer. Duke had taught most of the HPD officers crime scene procedure and knew they could spot evidence the SP's hadn't been trained to spot.

"If he went that direction, we'll never find him," Duke said. "We don't know who we're looking for and that many sailors in uniform is going to get confusing. He could break down the weapon, stash it in a gym bag or backpack and get lost in the crowd."

McGarrett and Commander Graham joined them as they watched Beverly and Danny putting out the crime scene tape.

McGarrett looked around, jaws clenched the way they always did when he couldn't quite put his finger on what was bothering him.

Graham got there first

"Where the hell is Hoffman?"

O-O-O-O-O

Beverly was at her desk, writing the report from the afternoon's shooting. The gravity of the situation hadn't really hit until the bodies had been removed, leaving only a chalk outlines and bloodstains on the pavement. She'd sat in the guard shack, drinking the bad coffee that Danny had brought her and pretended to be brave until she stopped shaking. Things had gotten very interesting when Danny had found the briefcase full of money on the floor of the truck. Colonel Yablanski had verified it was the marked money CID had provided their undercover operative in Lucifer's Legion to use as a down payment for the stolen weapons. Che Fong's crew had found the neatly bagged ammo and the magazines in the back of Hadley's truck, hidden inside a large Igloo cooler. At least the ammo was off the street and no longer a threat.

She rummaged in her desk for the bottle of anti-acid tablets she kept there. She felt a little queasy and all she wanted to do was go home and lie down. _As if that's going to happen any time soon_ , she thought. She'd been drilled by what seemed like every alphabet agency on the Rock about the shooting. No one had had a chance to return fire and she wondered how many questions and how much paperwork would have been involved if they had. If she was exceptionally lucky she figured she might get home before midnight, and that was starting to look doubtful. The only good thing to come of it was that Commander Graham had canceled the plan to send her undercover on the _Coos Bay_. He had a contingent of NCIS, NIS, Army CID agents, and as many SP's and MP's he could round up waiting to board the ship the minuted she docked. The _Coos Bay_ was the _Andromeda's_ sister ship, built to identical specifications, and Beverly was familiar with the layout of her cargo holds. Graham wanted her on the ship to help with the search. Graham was pissed. Someone had opened fire on his sailors and he wanted answers. She wouldn't want to be standing in Hoffman's boondockers when he finally bothered reporting for duty.

She chewed the anti-acid as she went down to hallway to the breakroom for a bottle of cold water. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the breakroom window. She looked like hell. Her hair, normally pulled back into a tight bun, was coming undone and loose tendrils fell around her face. At least she'd had a clean uniform in her locker. She'd already tossed the one with Hadley's blood on it into the nearest trash can. She wasn't even going to try getting the stains out.

She returned to her desk to find Hoffman sitting there, waiting for her.

"Commander Graham's looking for you," she said from the doorway. No way was she going into an office occupied by Hoffman without backup.

"So I heard, Williams. Seems like I missed the fireworks. Got any leads on your shooter?"

"You'll have to ask Commander McGarrett. Or Colonel Yablanski. They're all in the Commander Graham's office."

"Since when do we ask the Army anything? Or Five-fucking-O? Why weren't you invited, Ensign? As tight as you are with the brass, you'd think they'd want you there. Or did they get someone else to fetch the coffee?" Hoffman had a rare talent of leering and smirking at the same time. Beverly could feel the hair on the back of her neck standing up as her alarm bells started ringing.

"I've already been questioned by everyone in a suit or a uniform on this rock already so I'm guessing they didn't need me for anything else. I was tying up the report for the Commander. Admiral Donner wants to see it as soon as it's done. Someone's got to do the paperwork. I guess that's me."

"Then you need to get in here and start typing up your report."

"I can't. You're sitting at my desk."

Hoffman looked around as if he wasn't aware of where he was. Beverly had a feeling he had been snooping in her desk and her computer files and reminded herself to change all the passwords before she left.

"Oh, you're right," he said, getting up and heading for the door. "I'm sorry. I'd hate to interrupt your important clerical duties."

Hoffman was wearing short sleeved suntans instead of the usual BDU's of pier security. For the first time Beverly noticed the snake tattooed on his left forearm.

"See anything interesting?" he asked.

"Just looking at your tattoo, sir." she said, thinking of the first lie that popped into her head. "I've been thinking about getting one. Maybe with a rainbow and my anniversary date."

"You got ink, sailor?" he leered.

"Sorry, no," she said. Hoffman didn't need to know about the Rose Warriors. "You get that done here?" She hazarded a glimpse at the ring he had on his left hand. She couldn't make out the inscription, but the round blue stone looked familiar.

"No, had it done in the Philippines, years ago. Let me know when you're ready to get one, I know a good place downtown." he said, brushing up against her as he left the room.

"I'll keep that in mind, sir. You'd better go see Commander Graham. He's in a bad mood."

She watched as he left the building. It was only after he'd gone that she realized the fingers of her right hand were wrapped around the butt of her weapon.

She managed to make it to the head before she threw up, but it was a close call.

As soon as the wave of nausea passed, Beverly washed her face and rinsed her mouth with cold water, hoping to make it back to her desk and her phone without fainting. _Must have been something I ate,_ she thought, _the shrimp in the_ _lo mien tasted a little off_. She went back to her desk, dropping gracelessly into the chair, and called Commander Graham.

"Sir," she said when he answered his phone, "Has Lt Hoffman made it to your office yet?"

"No," Graham said. Hoffman was still a no show and Graham was getting ready to have him picked up by shore patrol, if necessary. "You seen him?"

"He left here a few minutes ago, sir. He's suppose to be on his way to your office. Commander, he's got a snake tattooed on his left arm and he's wearing a ring with a blue stone, like the one from the security video. I didn't get a good look at it because I didn't want to get that close to him."

"Are you sure?" Graham asked. "Because if you are it means we've found our man. If you are in your office alone, get out of there. Now! I want you in my office in ten. You got that, Ensign?"

"Yes, sir." she said. She hung up the phone, grabbed her hat and handbag, and headed out. She paused at the entryway and turned to lock the front door.

The light over the door was burned out again. She'd have to call facilities engineers in the morning. That was the third bulb to burn out in as many weeks and she thought there must be a malfunction with the light fixture. She was still feeling queasy and as a result was too busy trying to stay on her feet and not throw up to pay proper attention to her surroundings.

She didn't see the man lurking in the bougainvillea that grew so prolifically by the front door. She wasn't even aware he had crept up behind her until he hit her behind the right ear with a weighted sap, and then she wasn't aware of anything except darkness.


	11. Chapter 11

O-O-O-O-O

Chapter 11

Maggie and Susan had dropped by while the detectives were still at Pearl Harbor Naval Station, bringing sandwiches and snacks. Steve had called her as soon as he had the time to reassure her that everyone was safe. Maggie had brought Tilda along, giving the little one a chance to see her dad. Chin had reassured both women that one of his cousins would be spending the night at his house to take care of the three older kids. Tilda would be staying the night at Maggie and Steve's.

"You sure it's no trouble?" Chin had asked. Maggie and Susan had been a godsend. The time since his wife's passing had been rough and he didn't think he would have made it without the aid of the two retired army sergeants.

"No trouble at all, Chin," Maggie said. "She's welcome anytime."

"Same here," Susan said, retrieving Michael from Mendoza. "Michael is convinced she's another sister."

Chin hugged his little girl good-bye. He had sixteen months left until retirement. Then he was going to hang up his gun and badge and stay home and watch his children and grandchildren grow up. His only regret was that Lin wouldn't be there to share it with him.

Pacita interrupted his thoughts. "Uncle Chin, you need to see this. I hacked into the Hoffman's sealed files. They're scary. The papers are coming out of the printer now."

Chin picked up the first page and started reading.

O-O-O-O-O

Duke and Danny were in McGarrett's office, going over the evidence the search parties had found on the roof of the high rise enlisted barracks. The search had turned up two stolen laundry bags, stacked one on the other and stuffed with old blankets. There were a pair of indentations on the top bag that Che had measured and determined were the correct dimensions for the bi-pods commonly used with the M-16's. In addition, the searchers had turned up thirty brass shell casings, each one with a mark on the end indicating it was military ammo.

"That's all they found, Steve." Duke said. "The shooter had a perfect line of sight from the northeast corner of the building to the front gate. I used your sixteen with the laser sight to check for accuracy. The shot was doable. More than doable from that angle. I could have taken out Hadley with one shot using open sights. Whoever was shooting went in for overkill."

"Firing thirty rounds to do a job that should have only taken one says amateur," Steve replied. "Either that or he didn't care who got hurt. Or he had more than one target in mind."

"Or maybe the shooter was trying to make it look like a terrorist attack. I've got HPD's public affairs division coordinating with the the news media. If anyone calls in claiming credit for the shooting they will alert us immediately." Danny said, still annoyed because his SUV was in the shop having the back window replaced. He was still trying to sort out exactly how he felt about Beverly being in the line of fire. She was turning into a good police officer. He could see it in the way she did her job. He'd watched as her confidence in herself had increased while she was working at Five-O as Steve's yeoman before she'd gone to NCIS training at Quantico. He was extremely proud of her accomplishments and loved her madly. It hadn't occurred to him until that afternoon, when he saw her kneeling behind Hadley's truck, covered in blood and with her weapon drawn, that she would ever be in a life threatening situation.

Steve was pacing his office, occasionally stopping to stare at the information covered chalkboard and cork board. He was bordering on exhaustion. _Guess that means I'm getting old,_ he thought. "We're missing something. Damned if I know what." The men had gotten back to Iolani half an hour earlier and had been going over the information they had, trying to find answers.

"Maybe we should do a background check on Emerson," Duke suggested. "Find out how often he worked the front gate and see if it correlates with any of dates the _Coos Bay_ was in port. Maybe the SP's were being paid to look the other way. Maybe the shooter was tying up loose ends."

"Good call. Mendoza's already on overtime give her a call and have her run down a copy of his 201 file. Danno, tomorrow get me the book on Petty Officer Emerson. I want a close look at his financial information. Let's see if he's living better than the average sailor. Let's see how often Emerson and Hadley crossed paths." McGarrett went back to pacing while Duke stepped out to call the computer lab. Danny once more checked the posted information trying to connect the dots that would lead them to the killer.

Jenny interrupted by buzzing in with a call from Doc Bergman. McGarrett told her to put it through and go home before her husband and kids sent out a search party. He could hear the smile in her voice as she put through the call and told him she'd see him in the morning.

"Your hunch was right, Steve," Bergman said. "Mrs. Bunroeun was suffocated. I found residue from cotton fibers, foam filler, and plastic in her nose and trachea. Che says the fibers are probably going to an exact match the pillows and pillow covers found in her room."

"Thanks, Berg," Steve said. "I knew if there was evidence you'd find it."

"Yes, and I'm still on overtime because of the two that came in this afternoon. I'm doing Hadley first but Emerson is going to have to wait until morning. He's active duty and I have to have a pathologist from Tripler in as an observer and those lazy bums don't do overtime." He hung up the phone before McGarrett could get a word in.

McGarrett went to the chalkboard and added the new information to the list. "Doc just confirmed that Mrs. Bunroeun was suffocated. That makes two for the mystery man in the scrubs." McGarrett was staring at a still photo of the man lifted from the security camera footage. "There's something about our suspect that seems familiar and it's bugging the hell out of me that I can't figure out what it is."

Duke returned to the office, bringing in bottles of chilled fruit juice. "I get the same feeling," Duke said, frowning. "It's like I've seen him somewhere but can't figure out where."

Their musings were interrupted by Chin Ho. He entered the office with a thick sheaf of computer printouts and a worried look on his face.

"Boss, you got to see this. Pacita found some stuff in Hoffman's records she didn't like, so she dug deeper. That girl can find anything that's on a computer if you give her enough time. Hoffman is barred from re-enlisting, and for good reason. His security clearance was downgraded from secret to confidential about two years ago, that's why he's doing pier security instead of background checks. He was investigated twice for links to the black market while he was stationed in the Philippines and once when he was on Guam, although formal charges were ever filed. Not enough evidence and no witnesses willing to testify. He has a letter of reprimand in his file for adultery and complaints from several enlisted women he was trying to coerce into sex. I'm going to read from his last evaluation. 'Lt Hoffman has shown no initiative, very little concern, and even less care about his assigned duty. His lazy, inconsiderate, and lackadaisical attitude as well as his open disrespect for female sailors of all ranks, when taken in conjunction with the psychological evaluation ordered by command, points to a lack of moral character that is in direct conflict with his position as a Navy Officer. It is therefore ordered that at the end of this enlistment, that Lt. Jackson Hoffman be dismissed from the Navy.'"

"Damn," Danny said. "Beverly said he was a lazy officer. I didn't know it was that bad."

"What's the psyche eval say, Chin?" McGarrett asked.

"That's the scary part. It says he's a pathological liar as well as a sociopath with something I've never heard of before called "Borderline Personality Disorder". And it's a real winner at that. According to this, like all sociopaths, he thinks he is the center of the universe and has no qualms about using other people to get what he wants or to make himself look good. One doctor called him a 'charming con man with an exaggerated sense of self entitlement.' Another one said trusting him was the biggest mistake anyone could make, because he takes advantage of anyone who's the least bit gullible. The scariest part of the evaluation is a short note from the Chief of Psychiatric Medicine at Tripler. She says the only reason Hoffman hasn't killed anyone as yet is because he hasn't had the opportunity and has no doubt he'd resort to murder if anyone got in his way. She also refused to be in a room alone with him. Mendoza did some further digging and found out he was questioned for the rape of a women he went to college with and it was rumored that while he was stationed in the Philippines he was running a string of hookers out of a bar in Olongapo. He's a real class act."

"Hoffman never showed up after the shooting at the base," Duke said. "Commander Graham was getting ready to have Shore Patrol pick him up. Makes you wonder where he was and what he was doing."

"Makes me wonder where he was this morning when Kini and Mrs. Bunroeun were killed," McGarrett said, taking a good long look at the photo of the man in the beige scrubs. "He's, what, about six feet tall, around 180?"

Chin checked his papers. "Says here he's six foot one, 185 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, and he has a snake tattooed on his left forearm."

"That's it! We got him!" McGarrett said. "Pier security is wearing BDU's these days. He had his sleeves rolled down when we saw him at the governor's office. I think Hoffman's our man, now all we have to do is prove it."

He went to the phone and called Commander Graham. "Commander, this is McGarrett. I think we've found the man behind the weapons theft. I need for you to have Shore Patrol pick up Lt Jackson Hoffman."

"Slow down, McGarrett," Graham said. "I was about to call you. Ensign Williams figured out it was Hoffman before you did. She called me about forty-five minutes ago with her suspicions. She was at her office alone and I told her I wanted her out of there and in my office in ten minutes. No one's heard from her since. I tried calling her cell phone, and when she didn't answer, I sent the SP's to her office to check. They found her hat and purse on the front steps and no sign of Ensign Williams or Hoffman anywhere. Do me a favor and put out an all points on both of them. I already have the shore patrol out looking."

"You got it. We'll be there in about 20 minutes. Secure the scene; I'm sending over my lab crew."

"Already done. See you in twenty." Graham hung up the phone.

Steve replaced the phone in it's cradle and looked over at Danno. This was not going to be easy. "Danno, Beverly figured out it was Hoffman before we did. She called Commander Graham to tell him and she hasn't been heard from since. Shore Patrol found her hat and purse on the steps of her office but no sign of her. Duke, call Che and roll out the lab crew. Then put out an APB for Hoffman and Beverly. Top priority. Give dispatch a description and have it repeated every 15 minutes until she's found. Chin, is there a photo of Hoffman in that file?"

"A good one too. Taken about three months ago when the military got everyone new ID's."

"Get copies made and distributed to every watch commander and HPD precinct in Honolulu. I want one in every patrol car within the hour. Call Kono and alert the sheriff's department."

"On it. But we're gonna need one of Beverly, too."

"Danno, have you got a recent picture of Beverly?"

Danny hadn't said anything. He was standing in stunned silence. "Danno," Steve repeated. "Do you have a recent picture of Beverly?"

"Yes, sorry," he said, fumbling in his pocket for his wallet an taking out a small picture of Beverly. "It's not recent. It was the one from when she was commissioned last year. She hasn't changed any. She's still beautiful." He gave the picture to Chin.

"I'll get this back to you when we're done." Chin said gently.

"When you're done, meet us at Pearl. Let's get moving, gentleman. This is family."

O-O-O-O-O

Andreaus Yablanski stood on the balcony of his room at the Honolulu Hilton, staring out to sea, sipping a glass of fresh pineapple juice and waiting for his operative to call. He had came to Honolulu to find stolen weapons and had ended up finding peace with himself.

Lu had forgiven him for all the pain and anguish he'd put her through. He would be the first to admit the divorce was his fault. Susan had caught him cheating on her, with a woman twenty years his junior. He'd just been promoted to major and had somehow gotten it into his mind that he needed a trophy wife, one with more education and a better social pedigree than an enlisted photographer from French Lick, Indiana. He thought he had wanted sophisticated and sexy woman on his arm when he went to the officers club, instead of the woman who had stood by him while he made his way through the ranks and Officers Candidate School, a woman who was unfashionably curvy and had a bad habit of telling people exactly what was on her mind. He had cheated on her with skinny brunette second lieutenant fresh out of an Ivy League ROTC program with a degree in art history and her nose so far in the air it was a wonder she hadn't drowned in the shower. At the time, it didn't seem to matter because she was fashionably slim and looked damn good in a tight cocktail dress. What he hadn't realized was that she had been as shallow as a saucer, and when you peeled off the layers of pretension, she was not a nice person. Susan had divorced him when she'd found out. He'd compounded the mistake by marrying the woman, and regretted it almost immediately. The marriage lasted for three of the most miserable years of his life, the only bright spot being his frequent visits with his daughter.

He had once held out hope of reconnecting with Susan. They had eventually became friends. They had to, as they were still trying to raise their daughter. He had even convinced Susan to stay at his house after she had been released from Walter Reed, still weak from the cancer treatment, hoping for a reconciliation that never happened. She had stayed until she was assigned quarters in military housing. He had watched her as she once more packed up her things and their daughter and continued on with her life.

He had really wanted to hate her new husband. He had tried, only to discover that Duke Lukela was the type of man he'd want to have at his back in a firefight. Lukela was quiet, confident, capable, intelligent, and obviously in love with Susan. Yablanski had accessed Lukela's personnel files from the Navy, HPD, and Five-O, telling himself that he wasn't snooping. After all, Lukela was going to be his daughter's step-father and he needed to know what kind of man he was. The files were filled with accommodations and citations and various other awards, including the Navy Cross. He had gone so far as to call Chief Dann at HPD, who had given Lukela a glowing recommendation. And the man had done something no one had managed before. Lukela had convinced Susan it was time to leave the nickname she'd acquired in basic training behind and answer to her real name, a feat Yablanski had once thought impossible.

For the first time since he'd known her, Susan seemed content and at peace with herself and with the past. She had everything she had ever wanted; a stable home and a family who loved her. _Ohana_ , Sophie had called it. The family you make.

Maggie Alden, no, it was McGarrett now, was here in Hawaii also. Maggie and Susan had been friends for years and made a great team, with Maggie writing the stories and Susan taking the pictures. He wondered if there really was something magical about these Islands. Maggie had met and married Steve McGarrett and had retired from the army to be the writer she was always meant to be. Susan had met Duke Lukela at a party at Maggie and Steve's house, and when Sophie had flown to Honolulu for her mother's wedding, she had met John Cooper McGarrett, Steve McGarrett's son and Maggie's step-son, on the plane. Now his daughter was engaged to the young Navy ensign. _Ohana_ , he thought, _please, god, let there be room in there for me._

Before he could get more maudlin, the cell phone used by his operative to contact him began ringing. "Yablanski here," he answered.

"This is the Wolfman. It's going down tomorrow morning at ten. Got a pen? I'll give you the coordinates." Yablanski took out a pen and wrote down the numbers Wolfman gave him, then read them back to make sure he had gotten them right. "You got it. I already checked. It's at one of the World War two bunkers near Schofield, not far from the back fence but in the damned jungle. We'll probably get eaten alive by mosquitoes. There's one road in and your guy says if he sees anything resembling a cop, the deals off. He said to be there at ten tomorrow morning, with the cash. He said to bring a truck. Says I can have 300K worth of firepower for a hundred. He seems desperate to dump the guns and get off the Island."

"I will coordinate with my people for the arrest. Do you know how many people will be on the scene?"

"Hell if I know. It's going to be just me and Mongo in the truck. Skuz, Bruiser. and Jake the Snake will be following on bikes. They'll all be packing semi-auto's."

"Very well. You will have the money in the morning. Usual procedure for picking up the money. It'll be in a safe deposit box at the main branch of the Bank of Oahu on Kapiolani Drive. It will be marked and there is a transmitter hidden in the case."

"Yeah, cool. When I am done with this shit I am through! You hear me? I have had it with idiots who call themselves names like Skuz and Mongo and think it's cool. I want reinstated to the damned bar and this time I want to prosecute these dumb motherfuckers. Who the hell puts ape hangers on a vintage Harley, for Christ's sake, and I'm not even going to start on hygiene and wardrobe."

"As per our deal. You lead us to the weapons, it's all yours. In the morning, then." Yablanski hung up and dialed McGarrett.

O-O-O-O-O

McGarrett was on the way to NCIS Pearl Harbor with flashing lights and sirens wailing, with Danny sitting silently in the passenger seat when Yablanski called.

"We've found your mastermind," Steve said as he passed an Hawaiian grandma going too slow with squealing tires and a blast from the horn. "It's Hoffman. It all fits. No one has seen him since the shooting. He showed up at the NCIS office about an hour ago. Ensign Williams had already came to the same conclusion and alerted Commander Graham. That's the last anyone has heard from her. I'm on the way to NCIS Pearl Harbor. Meet us there."

He snapped the phone closed as he blew through the gates at the Naval Station. The SP's had been alerted. They had opened the gate and got the hell out of the way.

They'd set up lights, aimed at the front of the building. Graham was already on scene and obviously angry.

"Find anything?" McGarrett asked.

"A whole lot of nothing. We found Williams's keys in the door, her handbag and hat on the steps. As you can see, the light over the entryway has been removed. It's over in the bushes. No one's touched it and we're waiting for your lab boys to get here. There's also some trampled grass and leaves back there. I think our boy was lurking in the bushes. No sign of a struggle though. We think it was blitz attack and she never knew what hit her."

"Is her car still here?" Danny asked. "Or are they in another vehicle?"

"Her car's parked on the side of the building, in the employee lot," Graham said. "Officer Williams, I ended lock down about three hours ago when it was determined the shooter was long gone. I'm sorry. If I had left mandatory inspection for all vehicles leaving post in place a little longer, we may have been able to stop him."

"Do you have a description of Hoffman's vehicle? If it's registered on post then you should have a description and a plate number," McGarrett said

"Ahead of you on that one. I had an Island wide alert issued for his car. He's driving a white Durango."

"There's only about a thousand of those on Oahu." He turned to Duke and Chin. "I want this Island sealed. No one leave unless I know about it. Then get with Kono. Have him set up roadblocks on every pig trail and dirt road around the city. They can't have gotten far."

"On it," Duke said. "Chin's got some intel on Emerson that could be important."

"Petty Officer Matthew Emerson, age 25, from Grand Rapids, Michigan. Been in the Navy six years. Here's the fun part. He's got an account in the Bank of Oahu with 30 grand in it and a habit of flying to Maui on the weekends he don't work," Chin said. "Makes me wonder if he was paid to look the other way."

"Good work, Chin," McGarrett said, "Commander, I have a feeling this whole caper has more tentacles than an octopus."

"It doesn't look good for the Navy, that's for sure," Graham replied as his phone rang. "If you will excuse me please, I need to answer this."

The lab crew rolled up. Che Fong and his crew were already suited up and ready to get to work.

"How you holding up, Danno?" Steve asked.

"How do you think?" Danny answered, shortly. "My wife is missing, we think Hoffman took her, and he's killed four people that we know of. We've got to find her, Steve."

"We will, Danno," he said. "I promise."

"Before he hurts her, Steve. I saw his psyche eval. Beverly knows who he is. She can identify him. You and I both know the odds of him letting her live to testify against him are astronomical. We have to find him. Fast."

Commander Graham joined the detectives. "I just talked to both Yablanski and Lt. Jeffers from the _Coos Bay_ s security team. Jeffers came on board about two months ago and got a feeling something squirrely was going on right off the bat. I'd like to have you and your men join me in my office, please."

McGarrett told Che to call him if he found anything and joined the convoy to Graham's office.


	12. Chapter 12

O-O-O-O-O

Chapter 12

Commander Graham's office was getting crowded. There was a master chief in shackles being guarded by two men in Navy BDU's with _Coos Bay_ patches on their sleeves and a no nonsense looks on their faces. A tall, well built man with Lieutenant's bars on the his collar and a name tag that read 'Jeffers' stood by, glaring at the master chief. He'd had a long day and was expecting an even longer night.

Yablanski was standing by with the McGarrett and his crew. Graham sat at his desk, wondering why the hell he'd quit smoking. "Alright, Lt. Jeffers," he said sounding irritated. "Fill us in on what you found on the _Coos Bay_."

"Sir, the gentleman in shackles is Master Chief William Cowley. He was the cargo master on board until I relieved him of duty and placed him under arrest about an hour ago. Chief Cowley was in charge of every piece of cargo on board, both incoming and outgoing. Kept the cargo logs and the manifests. And he had an unused compartment in the aft cargo hold where he kept cargo diverted for his own personal use. I've had my eye on him since I came on board, especially after Port Hueneme. He didn't want security down in the hold. That was enough to sound the alarm bells. After your men came on board there wasn't much he could do to prevent us having a good look around and I had a diagram of the hold area from Engineering. That's how we found his storage area. The door was so well hidden behind a line of lockers it wouldn't have been found without the layout diagrams. When the area was searched, along with assorted other items, I found two crates of automatic weapons with the shipping tags and bar codes removed."

Graham glared at Cowley. "Want to tell me why the shipping tags and bar codes were removed from two crates of weapons? Or why they were in a compartment hidden behind a bunch of lockers?"

"Fat chance," Cowley growled. "I want a lawyer." Cowley had decided long ago he wasn't going to retire without a nice little nest egg hidden away. Screw the Navy brass. All they did was sit around drinking coffee while the sailors did the real work. They could piss up a rope for all he cared.

McGarrett had had enough. He mentally counted up the bodies. Two elderly Cambodian refugees, a couple of cousins who should have been in school instead of cooling in a drawer at the morgue, a kid who worked the docks, an SP on gate duty, and two dead HPD officers. It was one hell of a body count for two days in the early spring. He stood glaring at Cowley.

"Chief Cowley, in the last two days, here in Honolulu, there have been eight murders, two of them at the gates to this very Naval station,and I can tie weapons stolen from the _Coos Bay_ to all of them. We know about the shipping manifests being changed in the computer system and we know it's been going on for a long time. It stops now. Who's your connection?"

"None of your damned business," Cowley said, frowning.

Yablanski was giving Cowley a look that would have frozen a lava flow. "Are you aware that under the UCMJ you can be executed for accessory to murder and kidnapping? One of the weapons stolen from your ship was used in a robbery that left two police officers and an elderly Cambodian couple dead. How far are you willing to go to protect the man who put you up to this? Do you think if the roles were reversed he'd have any qualms about selling you out for a lighter sentence? It's up to you, but you better decide fast. All I need from you now is a name. You give me a name, and the death penalty goes away."

It was clear that Cowley was thinking. "Is this some made up bullshit to cover your brass-bound asses?"

"No, it isn't," McGarrett said. He was tired and he was rapidly running out of patience. "I've got eight bodies in the morgue that can be traced back to an incident involving a stolen M16A4. A weapon that we know was stolen from your ship. You may not have pulled the trigger, but you supplied the weapon and that makes you an accessory to murder. Who was giving the orders? All we need is confirmation of the name of the man behind the thefts. We know you didn't do this on your own. The kid who drove the truck transporting the weapons off base is dead, as well as the SP who let them out the gate. Do you think for one minute he was going to let you live to rat him out? You're on borrowed time, Chief. Be glad we got to you before he did. Now, _who the hell is he_?"

Cowley dropped his gaze, suddenly no longer cocky. "The El Tee from pier security," he muttered. "Came to me about three years ago. Said he had a way we could all make a fuckton of money. Had this foolproof system. Damn me if it didn't work."

"That's all just hunky dory," Danny said, getting up in Cowley's face, fighting the urge to grab the man by the throat and choke the life out of him, azure blue eyes flashing with anger and frustration. "You made some money, and we've got eight bodies and now my wife is missing and we think the man responsible for the theft and the murders has her. I want her back before he hurts her. Because if he does, I will make you wish you had never been born. You got that, Chief?"

There must have been something in Danny's eyes that frightened the man. "His name's Hoffman," Cowley said. "Lt Jackson Hoffman. Works pier security. That's all I know. Just his name. I've got PO box in Pearl City where he sends the money. It's one of those private mail rooms. That's all I know, man, I swear!"

"That'll be all, Chief," Graham said. "Jeffers, escort the chief to the brig, please."

Jeffers and his team escorted Cowley out. Graham watched them go, teeth clenched and really wanting a cigarette. "Now what, gentleman? We know the who. Now we need to know the where."

Yablanski spoke up. "That's where I can help you. My operative called earlier. There's a buy set up for tomorrow morning at ten. According to my source, the seller is in panic mode and is offering over three hundred thousand in weapons for a hundred grand. I've got the map co-ordinates. It's one of those old artillery bunkers in the hills behind Schofield Barracks. How do you want to play this, McGarrett?"

"Duke, is your hostage rescue team ready for some action?" McGarrett asked.

"Ready and willing. I can have them suited up and ready to go by daybreak."

"I want to get the buyers as well," Yablanski said. "But only if it doesn't put Ensign Williams in more danger than she already is. I've seen Hoffman's file. I don't trust him not to harm her."

"You get me the coordinates for the location," Duke said. "If it's in the area I think it's in, it's all ravines and thick jungle and there's only one road in. We can go in on foot and have the place surrounded before your buyers show up."

"There's a lot of rough terrain up there," Graham said. "I'll get you backup from Shore Patrol."

"If you don't mind," McGarrett said. "I don't want anyone from pier security knowing about this. They're Hoffman's mob. I don't know if we can trust them."

"I'm with you on that one, Commander," Graham said. "No pier security and we keep this quiet."

"I'll call Chief Dann at HPD and Kono at the sheriff's department and get as many men as they can spare. I have a feeling Kono is going to want to join us." Duke said.

"Get someone from Schofield on the horn," McGarrett said. "We're going to need maps and MP backup. Find a ranger from park service. There's bound to be one or two who know the terrain. That's some pretty think jungle once you get past the fence. It's going to be slow going up some of those hillsides."

"When you get the maps, have them sent to Iolani," Duke said. "I'll have the team report there. And I'll give Peterson a call. If anyone knows the jungle around Schofield, he will. Let's go, Chin, you can drive. I have to call my wife and let her know I won't be home tonight."

"Peterson and his team are already on standby." Yablanski put in. "I alerted them as soon as my operative called, although at the time I didn't know Hoffman had taken Ensign Williams hostage. Major Peterson knows the area well. His team trains back there. They will know the terrain."

Duke and Chin left for the Palace. Yablanski watched them go, deep in thought. "That is a very lucky man. I hope he knows it."

"He does," McGarrett said. "How were you going to work the sale? I need to know everything you know. This isn't like last year. I am not sending my men in blind, Colonel. No surprises. You understand?"

"I understand. My operative is known as Wolfman by the rest of Lucifer's Legion. He's been undercover with them for over four years now. He was also recruited out of federal prison where he was doing time for assaulting a judge who ruled against him in a legal matter. He was the opposing attorney. For his cooperation and assistance his record will be expunged and he will be readmitted to the bar."

"You have a disbarred lawyer working for you?" Danny said, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"He has proved to be a very valuable asset. Tomorrow morning at eight, when the Bank of Oahu opens, Wolfman will go to a safe deposit box and remove the money, which will be counted, banded, and marked. It will be in a case with a hidden tracking device planted inside. From there, he and the four members of Legion here in Honolulu will drive to the rendezvous point. Once the exchange is made, then you can move in for the arrest."

"I am going to have HPD surveillance teams in place for the pickup, and I'm going to need the frequency for the tracker."

"I will be leading one of the teams," Yablanski said. "This one has become personal."

"It became personal when Hoffman snatched Beverly," Danny said angrily.

"Easy, Danno," Steve said. "We'll get her back. We've got work to do. Commander, get your team briefed. We'll be back at the Palace if anyone needs us."

"I will join you there shortly," Yablanski said. "I won't tell you not to worry, Officer Williams, because I know you will anyway. If it is of any comfort to you, your wife is a Rose Warrior, and those are remarkably strong women. She will be fine."

He patted the younger man on the back as he left the office.

"You heard the man, Danno. Your wife needs you."

Danny squared his shoulders as he left the room. Beverly needed him. He would be find her.

O-O-O-O-O

Beverly awoke in darkness, her cheek pressed against rough carpeting that smelled of mildew and old beer. Her head ached, and she was still feeling nauseated. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, her feet were duct taped together, and a blanket that reeked of an Astroglide fueled orgy had been thrown over her head. The smell of cheap lube, sweat, and various other bodily secretions were not helping her queasy stomach. She could feel the engine vibrations through the carpet and heard the sound of grinding gears and swearing as the driver shifted into a lower gear for a steep climb up a hill.

The ride continued for what felt like an eternity. Eventually the vehicle pulled off onto a smoother road, and, judging from the echo of the engine noise, into some sort of enclosed space. Beverly had no idea where she was or who had her taken her. She suspected it was Hoffman. He was about that creepy.

She heard the engine switch off and a door open and close. She heard footsteps coming around the vehicle. She tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness was making it difficult. The tailgate opened and the blanket was jerked off her. Bright lights shone in her face, making it impossible to see who was standing in front of her. Not that she needed to see him to know who he was. She recognized his voice the minute he started talking.

"Well, well, well," Hoffman said. "If it isn't Ensign Williams. Fancy meeting you here." He grabbed her feet and pulled her forward.

"What do you want, Hoffman?" she asked. "You have lost it. The only thing you are going to get out of this is major brig time. Let me go!"

"Williams, for someone who's suppose to be so damned smart you're awfully damned dumb. There won't be any brig time because I'm not going to be here. I am out of her tomorrow afternoon. As soon as I unload my merchandise, I'm on a ship to Fiji. And you'll be with me. Think about it, Williams. Can you think of a better way to get to know me than nice long ocean cruise?"

"I'd rather get to know a pack of rabid hyenas!" she spat. "You are disgusting! Let me go! Where the hell are we anyway?"

"Somewhere nice and secluded. Not the honeymoon suite, but it'll do." He drug her out of the truck and threw her over his shoulder. When he did, the nausea she'd been fighting to keep down refused to stay down any longer. She vomited down his back.

"You bitch!" he said, throwing her onto a sleeping bag he'd left in a corner after a tryst with a lone female hiker. He slapped her hard across the face. "The only reason I won't kill you now is because I may need you to get off this island. Then I'm feeding you to the fucking sharks." He considered gagging her, but if she choked on her own vomit, she'd be no good to him as a hostage. "We're in the middle of nowhere. Scream all you want. No one will hear you." He walked away, laughing, to where he'd stashed clean clothes and several gallons of fresh water. She could hear him swearing as he cleaned the vomit from his back.

She still had no idea where she was. The main part of the building looked like a concrete box being used for storage. The central area was stacked with boxes and crates that she knew was stolen Navy property. She was in the back corner of the room. Not much light made it back that far. She scooted back as far into the corner as she could get and took stock of her situation. She had let Commander Graham know her suspicions that Hoffman was the man behind the weapons theft. She was hoping he'd raised the alarm when she didn't turn up at his office as ordered. She didn't know what time it was and she wasn't planning on asking Hoffman. As she huddled against the wall, still nauseated and with an aching head and blurry vision, she sent a message to her husband, one that she hoped he'd get. _Danny, I'm scared._ _Please come for me. I need you._ Over and over, like a mantra.

O-O-O-O-O

It was late, or maybe early, depending on how you looked at it. McGarrett sent everyone home at midnight, telling them to meet at the back gate to Schofield Barracks at four-thirty, suited up and ready to go. Danno refused to leave. He didn't want to go home to an empty condo and couldn't face getting into bed without Beverly being there. He was lying down on the couch in Steve's office, caught somewhere in the twilight zone between wakefulness and sleep, when he could have sworn he heard Beverly calling.

He bolted upright, looking around wildly as he did, halfway expecting to see her standing next to him. When he didn't, he lay back down. _Hold on, baby,_ he thought _, I'm coming for you. As soon as there is light enough to see, I will be there. Hold on, baby, I love you._

O-O-O-O-O

Duke let himself into the house without making a sound. He'd gotten into the habit of entering quietly when his two oldest children were just babies and he knew how rare it was for Kalani to get an entire night's sleep without having to get up to feed a child, change a diaper, or comfort a child crying from a nightmare. He did the same now, not wanting to wake Susan or Michael.

He found Susan curled up in bed with Michael snuggled next to her. He quietly undressed and got into bed, wrapping his arms around both of them and drawing them nearer.

Susan opened her eyes and gave him a sleepy smile. "I didn't think you were going to make it home tonight."

"Steve sent us all home. He said we all needed to get at lest a couple of hours sleep or we'd be useless in the morning." He'd let Susan know what was happening, that Beverly had been abducted by a man suspected in a string of murders.

"How's Danny holding up? Any news about Beverly?" she asked. She hadn't been able to sleep until she'd taken Michael out of his crib and put him into bed with her.

"Danny's hanging in there, for now. He's still at Iolani, pretending to sleep on the sofa in Steve's office. We haven't heard anything from the kidnapper, but we think we know where she is and in the morning we're going to get her. Colonel Yablanski has the coordinates where we hope she's being held and he's sending in the HRT from Schofield. We're using the parking lot of the 55th S&S for a rally point. That's all I can tell you for now."

"Andy was here earlier today."

"Here? Whatever for?"

"He told me he wanted to see if I was as happy as Sophie said I was."

"Oh? What did you tell him?"

"That I was married to an Hawaiian sex god."

"You did not!"

"Relax, of course I didn't. I told him that I was happy, that I love my life, and my husband, and my whole extend Hawaiian _ohana_. Now quit worrying about my ex-husband and go to sleep. You have to rescue a damsel in distress tomorrow, and please be careful while you're doing it. Your family needs you." She kissed him softly and gently caressed his cheek. "Goodnight, my love."

Duke kissed the top of his son's blond curly head and then gave his wife a gentle kiss on her soft warm lips. "Goodnight, my Kukana." He fell asleep almost immediately.

O-O-O-O-O

Maggie was reading in bed when Steve got home. Or at least pretending to read. He knew she had difficulty sleeping if he wasn't there.

She put her book down and looked up at him with those luminous green eyes, smiling slightly. "I thought you were going to be working all night."

He had told her just enough about what was going on to keep her from worrying. He suspected it hadn't worked. "There's nothing we can do until daybreak. I sent everyone home to get some rest before the mission tomorrow."

"How's Danny?"

"He's trying to keep it together. I'm worried about him. If anything happens to Beverly..." he trailed off.

"I know," she said.

"I have to be at the rally point at Schofield Barracks by four-thirty. Is Tilda upstairs?"

"Yes, sleeping like a baby, oblivious to the dangers of being an adult."

"You should re-do the guest room for her." He slid into bed beside her, pulling her close."I love you, my little _Menehune_."

"I love you too. Try got some sleep. And I don't care how early you have to get up, wake me before you leave." She was answered by a soft snore. He had fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

O-O-O-O-O

Chin hadn't really wanted to go home. The kids would be sleeping and he didn't want to wake the elderly cousin watching the children. He'd manged to get inside with out waking anyone. He thought about making a cup of tea, but decided against it. He went to his bedroom. The bed was still neatly made from that morning.

He hated the sight of his empty bed. He missed Lin. Twenty-six years hadn't been enough. He'd wanted more. He'd wanted to spend his retirement years with her, traveling and watching their grandchildren grow up. He'd wanted her to be there when the kids graduated from college and when he would walk his two youngest daughters down the aisle for their weddings. But mostly he wanted Lin.

He put on his pajamas and lay down on the bed without bothering to turn down the covers.


	13. Chapter 13

O-O-O-O-O

Chapter 13

In the fog shrouded early morning everything was ready. The teams were assembled at a rally point near the back gate of Schofield Barracks. Colonel Yablanski and Major Peterson's team were standing by, suited up in jungle camouflage, each man carrying enough firepower to fight their own personal war. McGarrett and his men were dressed in jungle fatigues and armed to the teeth. This would be their first time out as Five-O's own Hostage Rescue Team and they were anxious to get the job done. Kono was there with a dozen black-clad deputies who had volunteered for the duty, most of them Islanders who knew the terrain. In all over a hundred law enforcement and military personnel were standing by.

They were going to need them. Not only did Peterson have topographical maps, he and his team had practical experience in the foothills and the jungles surrounding Schofield.

"This is some of thickest jungle on Oahu," he said, pointing out the location on the map. "About the only thing we have going for us is that for the most part, the trees are overhanging the road, making it impossible to see anything coming up the road from the bunker. We take Kolekole Road to the Bradly Trail, running lights only. It's a tank trail, passable, unless it rains, then it turns into a mud slick. There's an area in a box canyon just past Bradly big enough to hide an entire division in. That's where we park the war wagons until you're ready to move in. Should have good commo; there's a relay station not far from there."

Colonel Yablanski, dressed in jungle fatigues, carrying an M-4 Carbine and a pair of .45's, took over the briefing. "We split the teams half and half, with men who know the area taking point. Try to be as quiet as possible when you near the bunker. I have command of Alpha, Major Peterson has Bravo. Alpha takes the left side of the road, Bravo the right. Spread out about five feet apart once we get going and try to keep within line of sight. It's easy to get lost out there. If you do, find a tree and hunker down until this is over because we are not stopping to look for you. Make sure you have plenty of water. It's going turn into a sauna when the sun comes up." He paused to look at his watch. "It's 0545. I want everyone up that hill and in place by nine."

McGarrett was up next. "Our suspect is hunkered down in an old artillery bunker left over from World War Two. It's got concrete walls about three feet thick and is buried in the hillside. Concrete absorbs heat, making it impossible to get any infrared imaging. Because of this, we don't know for sure how many people are inside. There should be at least two, one is a female hostage, the other is a man with nothing left to lose and a cache stolen military hardware. At ten o'clock, a four wheel drive truck and two motorcycles are going to be heading up Bradly for a weapons buy. All four are part of an outlaw motorcycle gang known as Lucifer's Legion. All have violent criminal records and they will be armed. There are only two ways into the bunker. One is through the front, the other is through a side door. Major Peterson has the information on how the door will be breached."

Peterson unrolled the blueprints to the bunker. "Here's how we're going to do this. There is an emergency exit on the east side of the bunker, about two feet from the hillside. I doubt if the doors been opened in years and more than likely it's overgrown with vines and creepers. We're packing in a load of WD40 and a hand drill. Plan A is we soak everything down in WD40 and hope like hell the door isn't locked. If it's locked, we try drilling first. If that doesn't get it open, we go to Plan B. I've got an hydraulic jack and enough C-4 to do the job. That is not the optimum choice, as the noise will alert anyone inside of our presence and there is always a chance the explosion may cause a landslide that could cover the door so you can see why that's going to be our last resort. Once the door is open, I send in four men to get our hostage; Lukela and Compton from Five-O and Griffin and Koch from my team."

"I want that door opened as soon as the the buyers show up. I understand they will be riding Harley's with devices called 'cackle pipes'. You'll hear them long before you see them," Yablanski said. "If Hoffman is the only other person in the bunker, he'll be distracted by the exchange and too busy counting the money to pay attention to what's happening behind him. My operative has been instructed to keep Hoffman out in the open for as long as possible and with luck one of my sniper's can get a clear shot. If not, we wait until the money changes hands and the men inside the bunker confirm the hostage is safe before we move in. When we're ready for the rest of the team to move in, we pop red smoke and send up a two signal flares. Keep your eye's on sky."

"What happens if Hoffman has Beverly out front with him?" Kono asked. He'd spoken to Danny earlier and was concerned with both Beverly's safety and Danny's state of mind.

"Then our sharpshooters take him out at the first opportunity," Yablanski said. "If there is gunfire, my undercover man is a blonde giant with Willie Nelson braids. Looks like a damned Viking warlord. He knows the risks but try not to hit him if at all possible."

"I've got a men with grenade launchers ready with both CS and smoke grenades if we need them," Peterson said. "I know the hostage won't have a mask, and again, I don't want to use the gas unless it is necessary, but make sure you have your gas masks ready, just in case."

"I want a roadblock set up on Bradly as soon as the buyers start up that hill. Give them a three minute head start and stay well behind them. The noise from the bikes will cover the engine noise from the war wagons. The road is narrow and has three sets of hairpin turns. I want the roadblock just before the third set. Once you're set up, nothing goes up or down that hill without us knowing about it. That's about it then, gentleman," McGarrett said, checking his watch. "We've got a job to do. Any prayers directed to the God or Goddess of your choice will be appreciated. Time to move out."

O-O-O-O-O

McGarrett stood by as the teams going up the hill got a last minute briefing from Major Peterson. He had to give the recently promoted Iowa farm boy credit, Peterson knew the terrain and he knew what he was doing. Peterson had been trained by Colonel Yablanski and had passed that training on to his team. Both Peterson and Duke were checking their men, making sure they had the right weapons and equipment for an uphill climb through the jungle. Peterson was issuing machetes to the assembled men and had given each of the team leaders razor sharp KA-Bar Kurkies. Duke had his out, giving it a few practice swings that hinted of summers cutting cane for pocket money.

"You know police officers are not allowed to carry these things," Duke said.

"I won't tell if you don't," Peterson said. "Looks like you've swung a few cane knives back in the day."

"My grandparents had a farm on the Big Island. The summers of my misspent youth were spent cutting sugar cane. I graduated from high school and turned eighteen two weeks later. I enlisted in the Navy swearing I was done swinging a cane knife. Famous last words."

Duke finished his inspection and reported to McGarrett.

"We move out in ten, after the radio check," he said. "Look, Steve, Danny wants to go in with the team when we breech the side door. He's worried about Beverly and wants to get to her as soon as possible."

"He's too emotionally involved. It's not happening. I need people up there who aren't going to be distracted over personal issues."

Danny had seen Duke talking to Steve and had a good idea about the topic of conversation. He joined them, fire flashing in his azure blue eyes."Like you and Duke weren't emotionally involved when Big Chicken snatched Maggie and Susan?"

"It's not the same, Danno," Steve started to say.

"The hell it isn't! That's my wife up there and neither you nor anyone else is going to keep me from her. So unless you're planning on cuffing me to the bumper of that damned Ford, and you're going to be in for one hell of a fight if you try it, I'm going. You got that?"

"Danno," Steve said, trying to find the words he didn't want to think about, much less say. "What happens if he's hurt her? What then? Are you going to be able to think clearly if-"

"All the more reason I need to be there, Steve. She trusts me to be there for her. I have to go, with or without your approval. I'm going."

Steve hesitated as he thought it over. Danny had a valid point. His mind flashed back to that awful day when Big Chicken, hell bent on revenge, had kidnapped Maggie and Susan. He still had nightmares that left him shaking with fear until he found Maggie sleeping beside him and pulled her even closer, holding her tightly until he reassured himself she was safe. No one had had the nerve to tell him he was too 'involved' and if anyone had tried to stop him it would have gotten ugly. He figured it would have taken more than cuffing him to the bumper of a two ton truck to have kept him from her.

"You're right, Danno. Just be careful. You won't do Beverly any good if you get hurt out there." He gave Danny's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Listen to Duke on this one. He's been training the team for the last year and they work well together. And watch out for snakes."

Danny smiled for the first time that day, remembering the lecture on brown vipers Beverly had given them when they had landed on Guam during their hunt for a serial killer. "There are no snakes on Oahu," he said.

"How do you know they didn't import a few, just for you?"

Duke rolled his eyes heavenward as he acknowledged the radio check. The new earpieces with the built in microphones were rapidly becoming his favorite piece of non-lethal equipment. "Let's get moving, Danny. We're burning daylight."

"Good luck," Steve said. "I'll see you at the top of the hill."

Steve and Chin were going to be at the roadblock on Bradley where they would wait until they got the signal from Yablanski, then they would move in with the rest of the men.

Chin was watching the teams move out. He was four months shy of his sixty-first birthday and didn't move as fast as he once did. These days he left things like hill climbing and hacking through jungles to the younger men, mostly because he didn't want to slow them down.

"That HRT was a good idea, Steve," he said. "Duke's done a good job getting them trained."

"He picked some good people. The only reason Kono didn't volunteer was because he was too busy rebuilding the sheriff's department and didn't have time for the training. He sent two of his best men for the team, though."

"You think he's gone get re-elected?"

Steve grinned. "No one's running against him. I think that means he's doing one hell of a job."

"Sheriff Kalakaua, who'd have ever thought it?"

"Not me, or Kono either. He swears it's _menehune_ magic. Says it changes everything."

"Which _menehune_?" Chin asked, grinning. "Maggie or her crazy sister? _Menehune's_ from Louisiana. If that's not magic, I don't know what is."

"I think it must run in their family. I know my life hasn't been the same since I met that little Cajun army sergeant."

"This whole team has had a lot of changes in the past few years. I don't know if it's magic or fate. Things are different. Some good, some not so good. All I know is we have to get Beverly back." Chin stopped to light his pipe, taking a deep puff and hoping the smoke would drive the mosquitoes away. "When I lost Lin, I don't think I would have made it without my kids. They give me a reason to get up in the morning. Anything happens to Beverly, Danny won't even have that."

"We'll get her back," Steve said. This was the most Chin had said to anyone since his wife died.

"Lin and me, we thought of Beverly as another daughter. Guess I still do. She's a good kid who had some awful things happen to her and that made her stronger. I think there are things she told Lin and me that she hasn't even told Danny. If Hoffman tries to rape her, she'll kill him with her bare hands if she has to. She made up her mind long ago that was never going to happen to her again. You know she hadn't even been on a date from the time that monster raped her until she met Danny? It took her that long to find a man she could trust. You, me, Duke, Kono, and Cooper, we're on a very short list of men she trusts. We can't let her down."

"We won't, old friend. Kono says these hills were once under the protection of the old Hawaiian gods. With any luck, they're still on duty. Come on, let's go see if anyone thought to bring coffee."

O-O-O-O-O

Beverly sat huddled in the corner of the bunker, shivering in the early morning chill. Hoffman had uncuffed her hands and untaped her feet the night before. She didn't think he had been doing it to be nice. She suspected the only reason he had done it was the same reason he hadn't tried to assault her again. She had been nauseated all night and he'd told her to find a bush outside. Running away had been out of the question. Her head was still aching, her vision still blurry, and she didn't have the strength to escape. She suspected she had a concussion and knew she needed to see a doctor soon.

"Rise and shine, Sunshine!" Hoffman declared, setting two buckets on the floor by his feet. "Its a beautiful day outside. I hope like hell you're done tossing your cookies. I've changed my mind about taking you to Thailand. I got a bunch of big ugly bikers showing up here with a suitcase full of money. I'm going to give you to them. Sorta like a prize for spending all that green American cash."

"Let me go, Hoffman," she said. "You'll be long gone by the time I get down off this mountain. The Navy isn't going to come after you. And if they do, I'll stall them until I know you're gone."

"Williams," he sneered, "I have seen some bad liars in my day but you take the cake. You couldn't lie your way out of a wet paper sack. I don't give a rat's ass about the Navy. Most of the time NCIS can't find it's own ass with both hands and a map. No, girlie, it's the damned Five-O that I have to worry about. McGarrett is going to consider me snatching his sugar baby as a personal insult. The way I see it, he's going to be to busy looking for what's left of you to worry about me. On your feet, Ensign. And that's an order."

Beverly struggled to her feet, leaning against the wall until she regained her balance.

"Damn," Hoffman said. "You need to get cleaned up. You look like shit." He picked up on of the buckets and doused her with ice cold water. She gasped as the water hit, barely having time to catch her breath before he dumped the second bucket over her head. He tossed her a blanket as she stood there, freezing cold and dripping wet.

"Much better," Hoffman said, grinning. "Still too grungy for my taste but most biker's aren't nearly as cultured and refined as I am. Try puking on one of them and they'll kill you and rape your corpse. I gotta go get ready for company." He grabbed her under the chin, forcing her to look at him. "Not bad. Not bad at all, if you're into Alabama trailer trash. How many dicks did you have to suck to get the training slot at Quantico? McGarrett's old enough to be your grandpa. Guess that makes him your sugar granddaddy."

Beverly glared at Hoffman, wishing like hell she had her 1911. Or anything else she could use as a weapon. "You are a disgusting prick," she said, in a voice dripping with venom. "What's the matter? Afraid of women? Afraid we'll see you for the ball less coward you really are? Every woman in the Navy has ran into an asshole like you at least once in her career. You're so afraid we're going to do better job than you ever can that you do your best to make their lives miserable. Only you were stupid enough to take it to the next level." She tried to spit in his face, but her mouth was too dry. Hoffman backhanded her, hard, across the cheek. She didn't have a mirror but she suspected she was going to have one hell of a bruise if she lived through this.

Hoffman grabbed a handful of her collar pulled her up on her toes, bringing his lips a few inches from her ear. "Listen up, bitch, and listen good. The only reason you are still alive is I am not done with you yet. You got that? Until then, you need shut the fuck up and do what you're told." He entwined his fingers in her hair and used it to drag her caveman style across the bunker to a pair of iron doors. The doors had been rusted shut for decades, but the handles were still sturdy. He cuffed her left wrist to door handle. "Make yourself comfortable, cunt. You can scream all you want, no one will hear you, although I'd suggest saving your strength for when the bikers get here." He left her in the semi-gloom, the sound of his demented laughter echoing off the walls.

She sat on floor, wrapped in the blanket, shivering with cold and anger. Hoffman reminded her of how it had felt to be powerless, first as a small child being raised by a family of religious zealots that made the Southern Baptist Convention look liberal, then as a teenager who wasn't allowed to even think about pursuing a college education, the feeling of entrapment and the desperate need to escape led to her wedding a week after she graduated from high school. Her new husband, a man only two years older than she was, had soon turned into an abusive asshole. After a beating that put her in ICU for a week, she had gone into hiding at a battered women's shelter in Mobile until she was strong enough to pass the Navy's physical. The Navy hadn't been that bad at first. She was on shore duty and for the first time in her life she felt as if she could finally quit looking over her shoulder. She was stationed in San Diego, far away from Alabama and bad memories. She liked her job, was a quick study, and with the help of command, had obtained a divorce and reclaimed her maiden name.

After Sea Lift command she was assigned to the _Andromeda_. She'd heard the stories of how women on the ships were sometimes targeted for assault by male crew members and that if they had the audacity to report it, they could kiss their career goodbye. She thought the stories were just rumors until the first time the ship went to sea. The ship was our four weeks; to her it had seemed like an eternity. After the second week out, some of the male crew started showing their true colors. Women didn't dare go anywhere on board alone. Three days before the _Andromeda_ was scheduled to return to port one of the communications techs returning to her berthing area after a twelve hour shift was gang raped and beaten by four sailors. She was taken off the ship by a Coast Guard chopper and out processed from the Navy six weeks later. The names of the rapists were never made public. No charges were ever announced or arrests made. For all Beverly knew, the rapists could still be in the Navy.

Just when she thought things on the ship couldn't get any worse, Senior Chief Donald Wayne Waldrop came on board. Every female sailor assigned to the _Andromeda_ , officer and enlisted, made it a point to never ever be alone when he was in the area. Then the Persian Gulf exploded into a full blown war. It was bad enough sailing into a war zone but the women of the _Andromeda_ had the added danger of having a full blown sexual predator on board. One who had no qualms about tossing his victims overboard to cover his crimes.

Beverly still had nightmares about the rape. These days she didn't get them as often, and she knew she had Danny to thank for untroubled sleep. Danny was everything the horrible church leaders back in Alabama, her abusive ex-husband, and every misogynistic sailor in the Navy, wasn't. He was sweet and gentle and patient and understanding and in spite of being told by too many people that she was evil and unworthy for being born female, an impure vessel who's one goal was to lead men astray and would never amount to much because she had a bad habit of asking the wrong questions and _wanting to learn_ , he loved her and had made her his wife. She thought of those calm azure blue eyes and the way he'd told her if he wasn't careful he was going to fall in love with her. He had shown her a world she didn't know existed. A world with books and music and museums and long talks while lying on the beach watching the stars. When he had shown up expectantly at Quantico for a seminar on cyber crime, she had been as happy as a kid at Christmas. He'd told her to pack a sexy nightie and her Navy whites because he had something special planned for the weekend. She had told him she didn't own an lingerie worthy of the name, just a lot of white cotton underwear that didn't show under her uniform. He'd given her that innocent little smile, his eyes twinkling, and told her not to worry about it. When he picked her up after classes were over for the week, he told her to look in the back seat of the rental car. She'd found a pink Victoria's Secret bag filled with delicate silk and lace lingerie and nightgowns and a small white box tied with a red ribbon. She'd opened the box to find a pair of plain gold wedding bands.

"Those are the best I could do on short notice. When you get back to Honolulu I'll take you to Kam's and buy you the prettiest ring they have. I called the minister Wednesday. All you have to do is sign the papers when we get there tomorrow. Oh, wait, I almost forgot. Will you marry me?"

She leaned against the wall, thinking. _He saved my life. He doesn't know it, but he did_. Not from suicide. She was never suicidal, even when things were at the worse, because that would have meant admitting defeat and if anything she was a born fighter. Danny had saved her from a life of fear and shame and loneliness because until she had met him, she had effectively withdrawn from life. She went to work. She took classes. She read. What she didn't do, was socialize and had very few real friends. Occasionally she'd go out for drinks or to the movies or shopping with her female co-workers, but that was about it. She didn't date and she had major trust issues. Danny and the Five-O team had changed all that, especially Uncle Chin and Auntie Lin, the Chinese couple becoming the parents she should have had instead of the ones she got.

Hoffman thought he was frightening her. He wasn't. She knew he was a monster walking around in human form. She recognized the signs and refused to let him win. All he had managed was to make her feel helpless and she didn't like feeling helpless. Feeling helpless made her angry. She had learned one very valuable lesson from the Rose Warriors. Don't get scared, get angry, and then get even. Her head was still pounding but her vision had cleared up considerably. She was still feeling nauseous and weak but she accredited that with not having eaten since lunch the day before. Anger burned white hot in her chest. Now if she could get her hands on anything to use as a weapon.

The sun was starting to climb higher, a few rays even managing to penetrate the gloom of the bunker. She looked around again, hoping to find something, anything to use as a weapon when a metallic glint caught her eye. She stretched to reach it, hoping for a discarded knife or screwdriver. The metal felt warm under her chilled fingers from it's brief time in the sun. She wrapped her fingers around it and pulled hard enough to dislodge it from it's resting place. It turned out to be a belt buckle, still attached to the leather. She pulled harder hoping the belt hadn't been buried long enough to dry rot. Whoever had buried it must have intended for it to stay buried as it was really packed into the dirt and she was only able to tug with one hand. She got enough of the leather exposed to wrap it around her hand and give it one last mighty tug with what little strength she had left.

The dirt gave up it's prize. She pulled the belt over, feeling the heavy drag of the dirt covered burden, hoping like hell it was a weapon.

It was a pair of women's cargo shorts, the kind favored by hikers. One of the cargo pockets held a wallet with a military ID belonging to a female Marine. The woman had disappeared five months earlier while on a solo hiking trip in the mountains behind Schofield Barracks.

She stared at the ID as a feeling of dread settled over her. _Danny, baby, I really need you now. Oh, god, baby, Hoffman's a real monster!"_


	14. Chapter 14

O-O-O-O-O

Chapter 14

Danny and Kono lay belly down in the leaf litter covering the jungle floor, quietly watching the bunker. The team had been in place since nine fifteen. They were hunkered down in a tangle of creepers and scrub brush, ready for action. Now it was a waiting game. Major Peterson and Duke had scouted the area for the best locations for the sharpshooters, two men from Peterson's team with sniper rifles and spotter scopes and the best shooter from the HRT. The two men had moved through the jungle cat-quiet as they had positioned their men. You couldn't hear their approach and in camouflage fatigues, they were darn near invisible.

"Did you know Duke could do that shit?" Kono whispered as he was trying to silently swat a mosquito. "Like he some kind of Hawaiian Rambo."

The jungle had turned into a steamy hellhole as soon as the sun burned off the fog. Danny took a swig from his canteen. He'd filled it three quarters full the night before and had put it in the freezer of the break room fridge to freeze. He'd added fresh water before he'd started up the hill and as a result had a cool drink. "I think he made Eagle Scout before he enlisted in the Navy," Danny whispered back, offering Kono the icy canteen. "I was too busy chasing beach bunnies to worry about merit badges. One of these days I'm going to ask him exactly what it was he did in Vietnam. He's having way too much fun out here in the boonies."

Kono took a drink of the icy water and debated dumping the contents over his head. He'd lost over forty pounds since he had taken over the sheriff's department. He was in the best shape he'd been since completing Coast Guard basic training when he was nineteen and the climb up the hill had still done an excellent job of kicking his ass. "I tink both of us need to sit in on a few of them HRT training sessions. Learn to walk through the jungle quiet like on little pussy foots."

"I don't think they do much sitting during the training sessions and you wear size thirteen boots, Kono. You're a little past pussyfoots, unless you're talking about lions and tigers." Danny adjusted the strap on his rifle and checked his service revolver in preparation for moving out as soon as the signal went up.

Duke had loaned Danny one of the HRT's spare A4's, mounted with a Burris Riflescope FastFire III laser sight. The laser sights were the most up to date scopes to be had. Danny had test fired one of the new sixteens as soon as they hit Five-O's inventory. The new scopes practically aimed themselves. Once a target was pinned with that lethal little dot, it was as good a dead. He shuddered, thinking how much damage a shooter with one of those sights and an automatic weapon could do to unsuspecting civilians.

A double click sounded in his ear, the signal a message was about to come though. "All units, all units," McGarrett said. "Wolfman and his entourage just turned off Kolekole onto Bradly and are heading up the hill. I've got one black Chevy four wheel drive with four bikes following. Looks like he brought along a few friends to do the heavy lifting. Charlie team is moving out now. Everyone get ready. Radio check, please. Over."

"Alpha team all systems go. My shooters are in place. Keep your eyes open for red smoke. Yablanski out."

"Bravo team ready. I have spotters in the bushes and sharpshooter's in the trees. Ready when you are. Peterson out."

"Breeching team is ready. I hear the bikes now. Awaiting your signal. Lukela out."

McGarrett and Charlie team turned off onto Bradley, heading into the unknown.

"Hope he doesn't have more men hidden in that truck. Dark window tint can hide a real unpleasant surprise." Chin said.

"If you're still carrying that Rosary, now would be a good time to ask Mama for some help," Steve suggested.

"You didn't bring yours?" Chin asked with raised eyebrows.

"You know us Irish Catholics, Chin. We leave the praying to the women."

"Tell you what." Chin said, giving McGarrett a thoughtful look. "I say a Rosary that we get Beverly back safe, and next Sunday, you go to mass with me and my family."

Steve waited until they were through the first set of hairpin turns before answering. "Deal," he said. With the exception of weddings and funerals, he hadn't been to church in years. Maybe it was time he went back. "Only not the six o'clock mass. I'm not that big of a sinner." He quieted as they reached the second set of turns. He parked the big SUV across the trail at an angle, making it impossible for a vehicle to pass. He activated the mic on the earpiece.

"Charlie team in place. Kill the engines and for god's sake, don't slam the damned doors."

O-O-O-O-O

Hoffman smiled when he heard the Harley's struggling up the trail. _It takes a special kind of idiot to_ _bring a street bike off road,_ the thought. Not that he gave a flying fuck if every last on of them broke an axle. He didn't give a shit as long as they had his money. Let them get uppity about it and he'd give them a firepower demonstration they weren't likely to forget in a hurry.

He still had that annoying little ensign to contend with. She'd been quiet the last couple of hours. If he was lucky she had choked to death on her own vomit. It'd be a pity if she had. He had snatched her on a spur of the moment whim, the same way he'd snatched that female jarhead. That was her own fault. Really it was. Women from all branches of the service had been warned about going into the jungle without a buddy. But they did it anyway, leading to wasting time and manpower, emphasis on _man_ ; he didn't allow women on his security team, beating the bushes looking for her scrawny ass. The Corps still had the dumb cunt listed as missing and a possible AWOL. One thing about the jungle, it covered things quickly.

A black Chevy with tinted windows, followed by four bikes acting as outriders, pulled into the cleared area in front of the bunker. A blond giant with Willie Nelson braids hanging from underneath a sweat stained straw hat and cradling a sawed off shotgun got out and glared at Hoffman.

"You Hoffman?" he asked.

"You the Wolfman?"

"Yeah. You got the guns? Because if you don't, I'm going to kick your ass all the way down this godforsaken pig trail excuse of a road for wasting my time and getting my truck dirty."

"You got the money?" Hoffman wanted to keep it brief. He wanted his money, then he was out of here.

"You got the guns?"

"I got 'em. You saw the samples. Show me the money and let's get this done."

With a nod from Wolfman, Mongo got out of the truck carrying a Samsonite hardsider that had seen better days. He put it on the hood of the truck and opened the case.

Wolfman took off the battered straw hat and waved it in front of his face, as if he were trying to stir up a cooler breeze.

From a position behind a fallen log, Yablanski saw the pre-arranged signal.

One click sounded in Duke's ear. "Lukela, this is Yablanski. Time to open the door."

"Roger. Breecher's, let's go."

Kono and Koch were the heavy lifters for the team. In addition to their weapons they were carrying the goody bags. Peterson, Danny, Compton, and Duke, as quietly as they could manage, were chopping their way through the underbrush to get to the door. Compton was pulling fallen creepers out of the way when he suddenly went very still.

"Sgt Lukela," he whispered urgently. "Take a look at this."

"Robbie, we don't have time to- oh shit," he said when he saw what Compton was pointing out.

It was human remains. Or at least partial human remains. Remains that had been in the jungle long enough to make a visual determination of its gender next to impossible.

"Good work, Robbie," he said. "We'll do our best not to disturb the scene, but we have to get that door open within the next few minutes."

"Yes, sir," Compton said, relieved. They had a duty to the deceased, to find out what killed them and to alert their next of kin, but for now, they had a more important duty. Rescuing Beverly Williams before any harm could come to her. He finished removing the vines to expose the door. Kono and Koch ran up with the backpacks and began spraying the hinges and door locks with WD40.

"Don't look like it rusted too much," Kono said. "Look like maybe someone needed to use the back door not long ago."

Duke and Compton exchanged glances. Danny caught the look that passed between them and frowned. "Want to fill the rest of us in on whatever it is you're thinking?"

Duke closed his eyes, briefly, wondering how much bad news Danny could stand before he collapsed. "Robbie found a body when he moved those creepers. It's been here a while, from the condition it's in, at least a few months. She's still alive, Danny."

"Then get the damned door open! My wife is on the other side and I'm tired of waiting."

"Stand back," Kono said. "There's no way to tell if this damned thing is booby trapped so everyone take cover. Okay, Brudah, let's make like Aladdin. Open sesame seed!"

Kono and Koch grasped the door handle, twisted, and pulled, hard. For half a minute, nothing happened, then with a loud grunt, both men gave the door one final yank. It opened with a whooshing sound and the squeak of rusty hinges as Kono fell backward into Koch.

"Lukela to McGarrett, door's open and we're in. We'll let you know when we find Beverly. Out."

He faced his team. "Peterson and I have point. Danny, stay behind me. Kono and Koch, keep that door clear. Compton, you're on drag. The bunker's about fifty feet wide, and goes back about twice that. Stay as close to the wall as you can get. There's not much light in there so watch your step. Check your weapons and let's go."

The men fanned out along the wall. Peterson halted their advance to give their eyesight enough time to grow accustom to the gloom. The made their way cautiously past piles of wood and other debris. The old bunkers were prime sights for everything from teenagers looking for a quiet place to make out without parental interruption to homeless people looking for a dry place to sleep. This bunker wasn't as dank and smelly as some of the others Duke had seen. All the garbage was piled in one corner and supplies were neatly stacked in the middle of the room, hinting at long illegal use. A white Dodge Durango, covered with red dust, was parked nose out near the back wall. Weak light and muffled voices filtered in from the open area out front.

Danny could just make out a small shape huddled in the corner. He couldn't see her face in the gloom, but her white uniform reflected what little light there was. He resisted an urge to scream her name as Duke's palm caught him in the chest, stopping him in his tracks.

"Don't," Duke whispered. "You don't want to startle her. Compton, with me. We circle across the floor using whatever we can find for cover. Danny, follow Peterson. He'll get you to her quietly. Got that?"

"Got it. What are you waiting for?"

Duke and Compton moved silently across the floor, leapfrogging from shadow to shadow.

O-O-O-O-O

Skuz was bored. He had a strong back, a mediocre IQ, and a talent for brawling that had made him famous among West Coast biker gangs and feared in several of California's more notorious prisons. This mornings business was going off without a hitch, which meant that he'd soon be doing the heavy lifting. He didn't mind being the club's muscle, but he hadn't had the chance to beat anyone senseless in the last month and he was getting restless. He paced around the vehicles and the opening of the bunker, checking for unwanted guests.

"What's with your man?" Hoffman demanded. "He's starting to get annoying. Call off your dog or the deal's off."

"He's just antsy, is all," Wolfman said. "He gets like that when he's bored and he's bored because he hasn't had a chance to beat up or rape anyone this morning."

Hoffman grinned. This was working out even better than he'd planned. "Hey, Skuz," he shouted. "There's a red headed bitch cuffed to a set of doors in the back of the bunker. Why don't you go in and introduce yourself."

"I like me a redhead," Skuz said, grinning, showing teeth that had, at best, a passing acquaintance with a toothbrush. "Redheads always want to fight. I like that. Which way?"

Hoffman pointed to the back.

 _Crap,_ Wolfman thought, _now he's done it._ He once again took off his hat, but this time, instead of fanning his face, he let it fall to his left side.

Yablanski clicked his mic twice. He had no idea what was happening inside the bunker, but Wolfman had just hit the panic button.

Duke and Compton heard Skuz's boots echoing across the bunker. He and Compton faded into the shadows as Duke drew the K-bar Kurkie.

"Hey there little red riding hood," Skuz sang in voice that left a lot to be desired. "The big bad wolf is looking for you!"

Peterson grabbed Danny by the collar to keep him from charging Skuz. "Not now," he whispered. "Wait for it."

Skuz caught sight of Beverly huddled in the corner. "Will you look a here! Damn, this one's better than I expected." He reached out to grab Beverly by the hair.

She was ready for him. She'd slipped her fingers through the double pins of the belt buckle and wrapped the leather around her hand. She came up swinging, screaming the only battle cry she knew. A rebel yell echoed through the bunker as she swung her fist with all the anger and pent up aggression in her soul, catching him in the eye with the pins.

"Bitch, you gonna wish you hadn't done that," Skuz screamed as blood ran down his face. He couldn't believe it. The bitch had drawn blood. Now she had to die, after he'd had his fun, of course. He was going to strangle her and rape her while she was dying. He had reached out to rip her shirt off when he felt cold steel against his throat.

Duke's voice was whispering in his ear. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. Don't nod. The blades razor sharp and I don't want any accidents."

Skuz felt the cold, finely honed curved blade of the K-bar Kurkie as it rested against his neck, promising death and decapitation. He raised his hands in the air and allowed himself to be handcuffed.

Danny ran to Beverly. He pulled her to her feet and into arms just as red smoke started to drift into the bunker.

"Everybody down!" Peterson shouted as all hell broke loose.

O-O-O-O-O

Yablanski was on the radio as soon as he saw Wolfman drop the hat to his side. "All teams, heads up. McGarrett, you've got two minutes to get Charlie team up that hill before I pop smoke. Alpha and Bravo, stand by, over." He was staring at his watch when McGarrett's voice flooded the airwaves.

"This McGarrett. You heard the man, move out!" He slammed the big SUV into gear and took off in a shower of red dirt. The team made it up the hill with half a minuted to go. Yablanski held up a hand, signaling the men with the grenade launchers. They smiled as they dropped the smoke grenades at Hoffman's feet. They really liked their job with it's multiple opportunities for blowing things up.

McGarrett's SUV and two war wagons filled with men roared up to the front of the bunker. The men exiting the vehicles were all in fatigues, wearing body army, and carrying high powered rifles and handguns. Hoffman stood there, dumbfounded. This was not part of his plan.

Mongo and the rest of Legion had pulled their weapons. Mongo was shouting for Skuz to get his ass in gear, and when he didn't get an answer, opened fire on anything in uniform.

Wolfman had hit the deck the second the black SUV had roared up the hill like an avenging angel. Trust Mongo's dumb ass to open fire on a group of men with enough firepower to overthrow the government of the third world nation of their choice.

Hoffman was hunkered down behind the front of Wolfman's truck. He wasn't in the mood for gun play, especially against a platoon of battle hardened commando's and McGarrett's hostage rescue team. He grabbed the suitcase filled with what he's been told was nice untraceable cash and was getting ready to run when Wolfman tackled him. It was like being hit by a truck. Wolfman had played both football and rugby in college and worked out religiously because he had been advised exercise would help keep his temper in check. He'd pumped a lot of iron in prison for the same reason and after he was recruited by Army CID, kept up the workout routine. If he hadn't he would have snapped Mongo's neck months ago.

"Where do you think you're going, bucko?" Wolfman asked. "You're not going anywhere! I've been putting up with this scooter trash for the last four fucking years and I am sick and tired of every last fucking one of them. You hear me?" He sucker punched Hoffman in the gut, knocking the wind out of him, and as Hoffman doubled over, trying to regain his breath, Wolfman caught him with an uppercut to the chin that laid him out cold.

Bruiser was dead. He'd got the bright idea if he took McGarrett out he'd get more prison cred than he'd ever earned in his entire miserable life, and his social circle lived or died by prison and street cred. If he offed McGarrett, he'd be the king of whatever cell block he was assigned to. It was a shame he couldn't see the tiny red dot that appeared on his forehead, an inch up and dead center between his eyes. Yablanski dropped him like a bad habit through fifty meters of jungle.

One of the spare outriders, a punk named Kelso who's claim to fame was a misspelled tattoo on his dick. The tattoo was suppose to have read 'No Fat Chicks'. The tattooist had been a little deaf and hadn't heard the word 'fat'. Now Kelso had a tat that raised serious doubts about his manhood, and to make things worse, it had hurt like hell when he got it and had gotten infected causing the skin around the letters to thicken into ugly blue scar tissue. Hence he felt he had to make up for the shortcomings his tattoo hinted at by becoming the biggest dick in the universe.

Kelso had already emptied one clip from the Glock Ten, managing to shoot out the passenger side headlight on McGarrett's SUV and chipping the paint on one the HPD war wagons, and not much else. Kelso had seen a movie in which Vin Diesel had mounted laser sights on a Glock, and therefore had to emulate his hero. He used the open door of Wolfman's parked truck as a prop to help steady his weapon, the same way Diesel had in the film and aimed it at the Chink cop taking cover behind the black SUV's door. Kelso didn't like anyone and especially disliked Asians of any variety. He fired and missed, taking out the window as Chin ducked back down. Unlike Kelso, Chin didn't need laser sights to hit his target. He popped up while Kelso was aiming and shot the tattooed biker in the neck. Kelso went down. The remaining bikers, having just enough of an IQ for a minuscule amount of critical thinking, dropped their guns and surrendered.

Yablanski had been in enough firefights to know when one had ended. He was on the radio in seconds. "Hold your fire!" He screamed into the mic. "It's over! Hold your fire! All teams acknowledge."

"Alpha team holding, no casualties. Over."

"Bravo holding, one minor injury. Over."

"Charlie team, holding," McGarrett said. "Send in the EMT's. Over."

"Breech team, this is Yablanski. Report over."

You could sense the teams were holding their collective breath as they waited for reply. A minute later, Peterson's voice was heard on every earpiece in every ear on the mountain.

"Breecher's holding. Target has been acquired. Repeat: target has been acquired. We're coming out. Have EMT's standing by."

A collective cheer went up from the assembled teams that was soon overshadowed by an event that would go down in both Five-O and military history.

Between the grunts and what sounded like a side of beef being beaten with a blunt instrument Wolfman was heard berating Mongo. "What special kind (slap) of an idiot (uppercut to chin) brags about (left hook) being called Mongo? Are you (double slap) fucking serious? (backhand). And soap? (sucker punch to gut) You ever heard of _soap_? (another backhand) Or deodorant? (right hook) Were you raised by _fucking goats_? (uppercut) The next time I see your sorry ass I want to be prosecuting it! You hear me?" Wolfman roared as he headbutted Mongo into oblivion.

Two of Yablanski's men pulled Wolfman off Mongo before further damage could be done.

Another cheer went up as the Breeching team emerged from the gloom. Danny carried Beverly over to the awaiting EMT's.

McGarrett looked over at Chin, smiling. "We did it, old friend."

"I'll pick you up eight thirty Sunday morning," he said, re-lighting his pipe. "Tilda serves at the nine o'clock mass. Bring Maggie. I know she's not Catholic but I think she might enjoy the service."

McGarrett patted Chin on the back and went over to where the EMT's were checking Beverly. She was deathly pale, causing the bruises on her face and neck to stand out. She was dirty and disheveled and as far as Danny was concerned, the most beautiful women in the world.

"How's it going, Ensign?" he asked, hoping like hell one of the injuries she was going to need treatment for wasn't sexual assault.

"Better now," she said. "I've got one hell of a headache."

The EMT was shining a light in her eyes. "That's because you've probably got one hell of a concussion." He looked at Beverly's stained uniform. "I'm betting on blurry vision and nausea to go with it."

"The suns to bright," she said. "I look awful."

"It's off to the hospital for you, Ensign," the EMT said. "If for no other reason than you are extremely dehydrated. Tripler's closest. You want to ride with us, Mr. Williams?"

"She's not getting out of my sight," Danny said, handing the rifle to McGarrett. "Make sure this thing gets back to Duke." He climbed into the ambulance beside his wife.

McGarrett removed the magazine from the rifle and ejected the bullet from the chamber. Duke came over, smiling.

"They did good, Steve," he said, obviously proud of the team. "The only injury we had was Koch. He pulled a shoulder muscle getting the door open. I need you to come with me. You and Chin need to see this."

He lead them to where Kono and Compton were standing by the side door. Koch was sitting on a tree stump, drinking from a bottle of Power Aide provided by the EMT's with his right arm in a sling.

"Compton found the body under the creepers. It's been here for a while."

"You think Hoffman did it?" McGarrett asked.

He passed a plain black wallet to McGarrett. "Beverly found this. It belongs to Sergeant Helen Gatwick, USMC. She's been listed as missing for for about six months now. Beverly found her clothes inside."

"Get a lab crew up here. See if Hoffman has any more surprises for us," he gave a deep sigh, not wanting to ask the next question. "We both know Hoffman's a creep. Did he rape her?"

"No, Steve, he didn't get the chance. He gave her a pretty good crack on the head when he snatched her and she's been throwing up most of the night. Put a major damper on festivities, thank the gods."

"That's one good thing at least. Good work," he said. "Chin, Compton, with me. Let's go see if we can find some stolen weapons."


	15. Chapter 15

O-O-O-O-O

Chapter 15

The almost full moon rose huge and round over the waters of the Pacific as a soft breeze blew across the ocean, bringing with it the scent of salt water and clean air. McGarrett walked the beach alone. He'd left Maggie sleeping peacefully in their bed. Usually, she was the one who had trouble sleeping. Tonight the roles were reversed. He rarely had nights when he couldn't sleep and tonight was proving to be one of those. He knew should be sleeping next to his wife, especially after the way she'd greeted him when he finally got home. He smiled, just thinking about it, remembering her warm skin and soft lips caressing his body. A hero's welcome, she'd called it. _Funny_ , he thought, still smiling, _I never thought of myself as a hero before, however, if that was the reward for being heroic, bring on the tights and cape!_

Hoffman was in the brig at Pearl Harbor, along with Master Chief Cowley, two bosum's mates, and one data entry clerk from the _Coos Bay_ as well as four members of the Pier Security team and an SP from the gate detail. Upon finding that the only reason he was still alive was because Emerson had been the one on duty at the time, the kid had started singing like the proverbial canary.

Yablanski had the surviving members of Lucifer's Legion locked up downtown until he could get them extradited to a federal facility to await trial. Mongo, who's real name was Wallace Johnson, was currently in the prison ward at Queens hospital with his jaw wired together. What he would say when he could finally speak was going to be anybody's guess.

The next time McGarrett saw Wolfman, he didn't recognize him. As soon as his undercover assignment was done, Wolfman, aka, Jason Quinn, had chopped off the braids, shaved off the beard and donned a charcoal gray suit, a starched white shirt, and a royal blue silk tie. He was on the next plane to DC, where he had a job clerking in the federal prosecutors office until he was re-instated to the bar, and if he was lucky, the only bikers he would ever have to deal with again were the one's he was putting in prison.

Lieutenant Jackson Hoffman's career as a Navy officer was at an end. A search of the bunker had turned up the missing M-16A4's as well as a stash of Claymore mines, laser sights, grenades, grenade launchers, two M-60 machine guns, a case of Light Anti-Tank Weapons, and, scariest of all, six shoulder launched missiles. Hoffman admitted to having sold more weapons on the black market, mostly mines and M-16's, and seemed to have no remorse about putting military firepower into the hands of people who would have no qualms about using them against unarmed civilians.

Nor had he shown any remorse or guilt about the nine deaths that could be laid at his feet. Collateral damage, he had called it. He blamed the deaths of Kini, Leo, the elderly Cambodian couple, the police officers, and the gate guard on Doc Hadley, reasoning that if Doc hadn't used one of the stolen sixteens in the holdup, the rest would still be alive, and he'd have his money and be on his way to a nice non-extradition country.

"What about Sgt Gatwick?" McGarrett had asked.

"Who?" Hoffman had answered back, genuinely perplexed.

"The dead female Marine. We found her body outside the bunker. Ensign Williams found where you had buried her clothes." McGarrett had leaned across the table, his voice hardly more than a whisper. "Don't you even remember? Do you even care? Was that what you were planning for Ensign Williams?"

Hoffman had shrugged. "Never bothered to ask her name. She was just some dumb cunt."

McGarrett had rose to leave then. It was that, or break Hoffman's neck.

And that was why, even after his wife had loved him so thoroughly and so well he was going to smiling about it for the next week, he couldn't sleep. Hoffman wasn't the first monster walking around in human skin he'd ever met, and he doubted he'd be the last. The first one he'd met while on active duty with the Navy, a gunners mate who had deliberately opened fire on a group of indigenous women washing clothes on the river bank. The kid couldn't understand why everyone was so upset over a few dead Vietnamese. After all, they were just gooks. He'd met more since, in one form or another, both male and female and in one instance, an entire family who made a living moving from state to state, killing and stealing for a living, each murder and robbery netting at best a few hundred dollars. That particular case had given him nightmares for months afterward.

He kept counting up the corpses and hoping like hell that when the Corps of Engineers and the search teams were done tomorrow the count would remain at nine. Eleven, if you wanted to count the two bikers killed in the shootout. _Five more_ _years until I retire,_ he thought, _five more years of shootouts, dead bodies, crime scenes._ He knew the time would pass quickly.

Time had started speeding up, or at least it seemed that way, when he met Maggie. There never seemed to be enough hours in the day, or days in the year. He wanted more. He wanted to wake up next to her every morning after falling asleep with her every night after making love until they were both happily sated. A lifetime wasn't going to be enough.

The day hadn't been all bad. On the few nights when sleep wouldn't come he had a habit of making a list of the days events, listing the positive and the negative happenings, and tonight, the good was on the winning side. Hoffman and his weapons were off the streets, Wolfman was being re-instated to the bar to continue his law career, and Beverly had been rescued, none the worse for wear, except for a few bruises and and that one little thing she'd lost count of because of her busy schedule with the Navy.

McGarrett, Duke, and Chin had stopped by Tripler to check on Beverly. There were still questions that needed to be asked, but those could wait until after Danny had been reassured she wasn't hurt.

They'd found Danny in the waiting area, pacing nervously. The doctors had tossed him out of the treatment room while they did their exam. He'd seen her briefly before she'd been wheeled off for x-rays and tests. He found himself once again on the wrong end of a waiting game, except that this time he knew she was safe and not in the hands of a psycho.

"How's she doing,Danno?" McGarrett had asked.

"Don't know," Danny said. When he was nervous, he had a habit of biting his lower lip, and while he'd quit smoking years earlier, he would just about kill for a cigarette.

"Settle down, kid," Chin said. "She's going to be fine."

"Yeah," Duke said. "That girl's got some lungs on her. What was that thing she was yelling?"

"Would you believe a Rebel Yell," Danny said, smiling. "And not like the Billy Idol tune. The real thing. It's enough to put the fear of god into Yankee's everywhere."

"You can just about bet there's going to be at least one biker who's never going to want to hear another one," Duke said. "Ironic when you consider he's got a Confederate flag tattooed on his back."

"Maggie gave me a demonstration of one a while back," Steve said. "I didn't know she could yell that loud. She's teaching Tilda how to do the Yell. Chin, you're going to have Chinese Rebel on your hands."

"That's my little girl," Chin said, smiling happily. "She can't wait to grow up to be a Rose Warrior."

"Which one of you is Mr. Williams?" asked a white coated doctor holding a clipboard.

"That's me," Danny said. "How's my wife."

The doctor was smiling, indicating that the news wasn't going to be dire. "To start with she's got one heck of a concussion. There's a lump behind her right ear where she was hit by a weighted sap. That's the only thing there is that leaves the kind of mark we found. She's badly dehydrated from throwing up all night. I've got an IV started to get some fluids back in her. We've done an EEG and a full skull series and I am waiting for the results of those. I'll order a CT scan and an MRI as soon as Dr. Sessums is done with her exam."

McGarrett and Duke both looked up, startled by the doctor's last statement. "Dr Sessums?" they both said at the same time.

The doctor looked up from his chart. "You know her?"

"She delivered my son," Duke said.

"She did-What?" Danny asked eyes wide.

"Dr. Sessums is the head of our Ob/Gyn department, Mr. Williams. She should be out as soon as she finishes her exam."

As if on cue the attractive blonde doctor entered the waiting room. "Mr. McGarrett, Mr. Lukela, Mr. Kelly, what a pleasant surprise. I didn't expect to see you here."

The men shook hands with the doctor. "Let me reassure you the feeling is mutual," McGarrett said.

"You must be Mr. Williams," she said, smiling at Danny. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Sessums. Your wife is fine and so is the baby."

"Baby?" Danny said.

"Yes, Mr. Williams. Baby. She hadn't realized her period was late. I did a first response test, and sure enough, she's pregnant. She's about six weeks along. We're going to keep her here under observation for the next forty-eight hours because of the concussion and dehydration, but other than that, both your wife and baby are doing well. Congratulations."

"Baby," Danny repeated.

Steve, Duke, and Chin were all congratulating Danny.

"Baby," Danny said, again.

"That's right, Danno, baby."

"You're going to be a daddy," Chin said, grinning.

"Can I see my wife," he'd finally gotten out.

"As soon as she gets cleaned up. She said she didn't want you to see her looking a hot mess."

"She's beautiful as she is. Take me to her."

Dr. Sessums smiled, always happy to deliver good news. She took Danny by the arm and escorted him to Beverly's bedside.

The men had left quietly. Any questions they had for Beverly could be answered in the morning.

McGarrett looked out at the moon reflecting on the water. He had fallen in love with Maggie watching her watch the moon rising over the Pacific. She had brought light into his life, love into his heart, and a laughter into his home. She had quiet strength that spoke louder than words. He'd watched that one movie with her, the one about all those women from Louisiana. _Steel Magnolias_ was what it was called. That was Maggie, a steel magnolia, or maybe an iron plumaria.

He heard the security gate open behind him. He turned to watch as she made her way down the path to the beach, moonlight reflecting off the silver of her hair and glinting off the lenses of her glasses. He didn't say anything when she at last stood before him. He reached down, gently tilting her head back, and bent to kiss her, long and deep and sweet.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you, too," she said, looking up at him with those huge green eyes. "What brought that on?"

"Just thinking, is all."

"About what?"

"About how much I love you. And how much you've changed my life and the lives of everyone around me. You've made us into a real _ohana_ without even trying. I love you, my little _Menehune_."

They stood on the beach, watching the moon.

"This is the spot where we got married," she said.

"I remember. You were so beautiful with the morning sun shining on your hair." He bent to kiss her once more. "That was the second happiest day of my life."

"What was the happiest?"

"The first time we watched the sun rising over the Pacific. That's when I knew. I love you, my little _Menehune._ " He swept her off her feet and carried her back into the house and to the bed and the rest of the world faded around them.


End file.
